Book 8: Bellamy
by Veronice
Summary: It sounds as if it would be good to stay young indefinitely. But what when your children die of old age? And then your grandchildren? Harry finds it too difficult. He becomes sad and lonely, leaves home and wanders the world. It takes a very long time for him to find himself again.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_This complete book contains 3 parts, approx 191,800 words._

_Note:__ that this book contains sex scenes, both male/female and male/male._

_Summary:__ It sounds as if it would be good to stay young indefinitely. But what when your children die of old age? And then your grandchildren? Harry finds it too difficult. He becomes sad and lonely, leaves home and wanders the world. It takes a very long time for him to find himself again. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Part 1/Chapter 1

It was a sports game - a Quidditch match. The indoor arena had a high roof, limiting the height to which the competitors could soar, and it was also a little cramped around, so that an overshoot could mean an uncomfortable collision with the walls. The actual pitch, however, was the same size as the usual outdoor Quidditch pitch. Harry Potter's property was too open to fly outdoors - and for witches and wizards to be seen flying broomsticks was not a good way to remain inconspicuous. The enthusiastic crowd sat on seating surrounding the marked pitch area. Half a dozen dogs wandered around, although they apparently knew to keep away from the dangerous central area. Two cats, a tabby and a ginger, sat on top of a high cupboard, and regarded the flying broomsticks with what appeared to be disdain.

Some of those barracking were not of the world of wizardry. Some of Harry's employees were without the power of magic - muggles. And for the first time, too, Harry had yielded to temptation and to the persuasions of his son Adrian, and invited Ian Maguire and his son Connor, friends and neighbours, also muggles. They knew that Harry's family were wizards, but Ian had discreetly ignored the indications of magic that he'd accidentally observed at various times. Adrian and Connor had been close friends for years however, and had no secrets.

For the first ten minutes, both Ian and Connor just watched, open-mouthed, a game more fast and exciting than they could have believed. Harry was next to his friend Ian, and had intended to explain the game as it proceeded. He should have known himself better. From the first play, he forgot his friend and followed every move with total attention. Only twenty minutes into the game, Adrian and the other Seeker raced, diving for the Snitch, both of them tumbling over on the ground, before slowly getting to their feet, shaking their heads, dazed. Then Caradoc apparently remembered what it was all about, and raised his hand, holding the Snitch. The capture of the Snitch ended the game. Harry's team, the 'Employees,' was still champion.

The Quidditch matches at Harry's place had become a regular thing. There were five 'Family' teams as well as the 'Employees' team. For Harry had a numerous family. His daughter Margaret had nine children, and several of those had large families. His other children, Victoria, James and Beth, had only one child each, but those children all had grown up children as well. Then there was Adam Bourne, his step-son, Adam's son, Trevor Bourne, who had married a grand-daughter of Harry's and their five grown up children. Now the 'Family' teams were known as 'Abercrombies,' 'Davenports,' 'Bournes,' 'Parkers,' and 'Potters,' although none, aside from Adrian, in that team, was actually called Potter.

Ian was watching his strange friend with fascination. Aside from white streaks in his long black hair, Harry Potter looked young. There had always been a few rare wizards and witches who aged more slowly than normal, and sometimes achieved great ages. Harry's headmaster when he was at school, and later his friend and mentor, Professor Dumbledore, had died at the age of one hundred and sixty. It was beginning to appear that Harry's daughter, Beth, might be like this, as well as an illegitimate son, a Swede, called Helmer Roos. There was another relative, too, a witch called Cissy Diefenberger, now thirty-nine, who looked young for her age, although it was too early to tell for sure. There were no others apparent in Britain at the time, although there was one supposed to be in Denmark, and a few in the Arab countries.

But Harry was different again. Harry was unique. Unclothed, one would guess him to be in his early to mid twenties. His face was a bit thin, and the glasses he always wore helped make him look a little older, and there was that white in his hair. But that white was a sign of past traumas. It was not a sign of ageing. Harry did not appear to have become any older in his body than when he was maybe twenty-five. He was now ninety-five.

Ian didn't know his chronological age, and was amused as he leapt up and down in his excitement as he barracked on the Seekers, seeming unable to decide whether to barrack loudest for his employees, or for his own son Adrian. Harry was young in his enthusiasms. He had trembling attacks now and then, usually once or twice a day, sometimes more often. It was a legacy of an old illness. But he ignored these himself, and only told others if they commented, that they were to take no notice. It meant nothing, he'd say, although it did sometimes betray agitation. An even older handicap meant that he occasionally had problems with his balance. If very tired or sick, it would manifest itself in a tendency to stagger to the left. Steering a broomstick, or even a car was difficult for him. But he'd long since accommodated himself to that handicap, and it seldom showed itself except in exceptional circumstances.

The drawback of the rules of Quidditch, was that the duration of the match was so unpredictable. It ended with the capture of the golden winged ball called the Snitch, whether that happened thirty seconds into the match, or they had to play on and on for days, or even longer. In practice, except for National and International games, a halt was usually called once it started to get dark, and the team with the most points was declared the winner. At Harry's place, with its confined indoor area, the final capture of the snitch almost always occurred within a few hours of the beginning of the game. They usually had two matches in a day. This time the break was early, and Harry's wife, Julie, only just had time to organise the erection of three large marquees to shelter the gathering as the spring rains began again.

It was a laughing, happy crowd, and Ian and Connor watched, bemused, as umbrellas were casually conjured, and the company returned to the gardens where a lavish morning tea waited.

Connor was with Adrian, who had quickly recovered from his tumble. Adrian was lightning fast when playing Quidditch, but so was Caradoc, and Caradoc was a lot more experienced than the fifteen-year-old.

"Well, Ian?" asked Harry.

Ian still looked a little overwhelmed, and now he shook his head slightly at the sight of all the witches and wizards in their capes, and said, "Yes. Well."

Harry was concerned. "Is it too much? Should I have not invited you?"

Ian laughed, still feeling dazed. "I wouldn't have missed it for worlds! And I couldn't tell anybody anyway! Who'd believe me?"

Harry was relieved, and offered his friend a plate of sandwiches. The dog beside him, whined, and Harry gave Tammy a sandwich, too.

There was a brief lull in the constant light rain, and Julie suggested to Harry they take advantage of the break in the gloomy weather to return for the second match. Most returned then, to watch the Davenports against the Abercrombies. But the matches were no longer a novelty, and Hermione Granger, Harry's long time friend, decided that a warm fire indoors was more to her liking than a Quidditch match, no matter how comfortable the chair.

Hermione was long widowed, and had lived at Harry's place for some years. There was always a strong arm ready for her support, usually Will, one of Harry's employees, who idolised her, but this time, she was accompanied by her grandson, Charlie. Hermione was Harry's oldest friend, the same age as himself. She was now very frail.

There was an accident in the second match. Helga Davenport couldn't pull up from a dive, and ploughed into a couple of spectators. Helga was fine, and resumed play, but two cousins were taken to Hermione, who was a healer. They were not much hurt, and Hermione merely used spells to fix a broken arm and a few broken ribs, and dabbed some pink lotion over a few bruises. They were back even before the match ended, to the surprise of Ian, who had been unable to comprehend the casual attitude of those around him. But Harry only said that Hermione would fix them, although he had supervised their transport back to the house.

Ian quizzed Harry, especially about the arm that had been so obviously broken. "It's a standard spell that healers all know," explained Harry. "It's even taught in First Aid courses, but a healer's better, of course, when one's available, as novices can make a mess of it."

Ian knew Hermione, and knew that she was very old. "Can she still do magic, then?" he asked.

Harry didn't think the question strange. Very old and sick wizards could seldom work powerful magic. Even wizards who were confused, or mentally ill, very quickly lost the ability to do magic. He answered that Hermione appeared as competent as ever - and she'd been a very much respected healer. "We're so lucky to have her." He'd wanted to marry her once, after she'd lost her husband, Ron. But Hermione had refused. They'd been in their sixties then, she and Harry, but Hermione was ageing, and Harry was not. Instead, several years later, he'd fallen violently in love with Julie, eighteen at the time.

Harry Potter was unique in his unmatched magical power and in his apparent total lack of ageing. He was also unusual, if not unique, in his intellect and in his telepathy. If he chose, he could know the minds of those around him. He was always very strong on ethics, however, and never did that without a very good reason. Sometimes a particularly strong thought would come to him whether he intended it or not, but he couldn't help that, and just tried to ensure that he would not embarrass himself or others by showing it.

It was also unusual for a powerful wizard to have much to do with muggles. Most of wizardry scorned muggles, but to Harry Potter, they were just people. He'd once asserted that wizards and muggles were exactly the same, magic being only an extra talent like the talents for making art or being good at sport. But since an occasion when he'd had to look deep inside the minds of several muggles, he'd changed his mind. Muggles were indeed different. Their minds were different, and Hermione had explained that there were discernible differences in various other areas, too. Humans and wizardry interbred easily enough though, indicating that they were very closely related species, if, indeed, one could call them separate species at all.

Harry had never thought twice about the terminology for non-wizard humans, but during the course of his conversation with Ian, he mentioned that normal humans were called 'muggles.' Ian frowned and said, "A bit insulting!"

Harry was surprised, and said that it was only a name, to distinguish one type of human from another.

But Ian said "Muggles! It sounds like some sort of muddling, bumbling inferior!"

Harry thought about it, and it did indeed sound like that. He knew that most wizards regarded muggles as far beneath them, but for the first time, he realised that the very sound of the word conveyed contempt. So he smiled at his friend, and said, "All right, I'll try and change it then!"

Harry Potter may have had unprecedented magical power, but it was a different sort of power that was needed to change a word that had denoted non wizard humans for generations. British wizardry only numbered about six thousand, and almost all their children went to the school at which Harry Potter taught. He was in a good position to make this change. The hardest thing was to think of a more suitable word. It had to be a word that merely meant normal human, without any connotations of inferiority - just normal, standard human. He finally came up with 'Medjkind.' But he'd racked his brains, and he wasn't happy with the word even then. It was worse than coming up with a word for the inventions that still provided a large part of his income. But from the new school year that commenced the following September, 'Muggle Studies Ethics,' which Harry always taught, would be replaced by 'Medjkind Ethics.' And with the help of articles in newspapers, his verbal persuasions, and his own absolute refusal to use the word muggle, the change began to be made.

A few weeks later, Harry was sitting in one of his own conjured armchairs in the staff room at Hogwarts, the school where he taught. His feet rested on a footstool and he was reading a book of philosophy by Caradoc Dearborn, who'd won the Quidditch game for his team. Harry did always three days a week teaching, doing his own subjects through most of the year, as well as remedial work, and he also could replace, if necessary, most of the other professors in their subjects, which made him a very handy extra to have around. Professor Nicholas Bagshott, the headmaster, knew that he was privileged to have his services. Harry had a very wide knowledge of magic, loved to teach, and was exceptionally good at it.

At this time of year, when the vitally important fifth and seventh year exams were approaching, he was very much in demand by the other teachers for remedial work, and now Professor Batterham asked him when he could take three of his students to try and teach them to conjure. "They just don't seem to be able to get the idea!" he said, in an exasperated tone, "And yet, they're perfectly all right normally."

"Sure," said Harry casually, and named a time.

Christopher Batterham regarded him with a crooked grin, "Do you remember the incantation for conjuring a chair?"

Harry hazarded a guess.

"Wrong!" said the professor, to a chorus of laughter. Harry was grinning, too. He was hopeless at remembering incantations. His own magic just didn't seem to work like that.

"Don't worry, I've got a list," he assured the professor. "I won't teach them wrong!" It was a constant mystery that Harry might not appear to work magic like everyone else, and yet he was very good indeed at teaching it.

Thursday, Harry went to his other job - a quick visit to Italy this time. Wizards and witches sometimes did some very nasty things to each other. Spells could cause an enemy to sprout antlers or horns, could make his face resemble a bat or a pig, could give him a tail, or make it so that he could only move at the speed of a snail. And those were only a few of the unfriendly spells that wizards knew. The ancient tradition of duelling was to blame for most of these unfortunate occurrences, and a major component of every healer's craft was that of removing curses from their afflicted patients. There were always some, however, that defeated the best healers. Until Harry Potter came along, the unfortunate victims could not be healed. For many years, Harry had travelled the world, breaking these 'unbreakable' spells, and incidentally reaping profits and prestige for the British Ministry of Magic. But now his young relative, Cissy Diefenberger, did the majority of this work.

Cissy was a very powerful witch. If Harry had not existed, she would have been indisputably the most powerful witch or wizard in the world. But Harry did exist, and it was because of Harry that Cissy had been born. Julie was his third wife, and he had loved each of his wives with all his being. Before his first marriage, however, and between marriages, there were always women. He had another gift that he was not even fully conscious of himself. He could convey, with a change of voice and of expression, an overpowering sexual attraction and desire that had women wanting him. It was not magic. Whatever it was, it was incredibly effective. Often, he would then appear the seduced, rather than the seducer.

All his life, he had chosen experienced women, and all his life, he thought he'd been very careful of contraception. And yet, there were illegitimate children. Not many, but a few. And it was unfortunate that when they met, not knowing of their close relationship, there was a tendency for them to be strongly attracted to each other. Cissy had her power from Harry, and her looks, and she'd always been perfectly healthy, but she suspected that inbreeding was the cause of her two pregnancies ending in apparently perfect, but stillborn children. Harry knew that he was her grandfather as well as her great grandfather. He did not know that he was her great grandfather twice over. His daughter Margaret knew, and she had told Cissy. Neither of them told Harry. The harm was done, and he should not be made to feel more guilty than he did already.

Cissy, known respectfully as Madam Diefenberger, did her spell-breaking work all over the world, usually a week at a time in any one country, with a quick stint in London in between. To appear too different, especially to appear too powerful, brought with it dangers, and the Ministry provided bodyguards from its Auror Department. Aurors were the policemen and soldiers of the world of wizardry. Competent, highly trained, physically strong and fit, they were the elite. Cissy was always allotted two aurors and a Coodinator for her trips. Harry, however, had more dangerous and persistent enemies than Cissy, and when he travelled, as Cissy now did, there were usually four aurors as well as those provided by the host country, who regarded his visits as an honour and a privilege.

This Thursday in Italy, for the first time in a month, there was a patient Cissy hadn't been able to cure. It was only a few weeks ago that she'd discovered that she could raise the intensity of her own magic to the level that was felt as a tingle in the air, and she was then able to cure those patients who seemed to need more than a wave of her wand. But when Harry did the same, the power must have been slightly more, as the patient was quickly cured and was ushered out. Cissy and Harry were finished for the week.

"Ice-cream?" Harry suggested to Cissy.

Cissy smiled at him. "Yes, please."

Married couple, Tracy and Louis, were the aurors assigned to Cissy, but Franz, the head of the Auror Department had joined them, and now protested, "They've raised the reward again. You should not go out!"

Harry took notice, but only paused, looking into the distance for a moment, before assuring Franz that he couldn't feel any enemies close.

Franz breathed a sigh of exasperation, but he knew Harry would not listen to orders. Harry's abilities were legendary, and no-one had been rash enough to directly try and kill him for years, aside from an occasional attempted poisoning. Some people wanted him dead because he was a monster and a freak, others wanted him dead because he was seen as an obstacle to them gaining political power, and a few because they were inclined to the life of a Dark Wizard, who would be so powerful that none but the great wizard could stand in their way. No-one knew exactly who had offered the reward, but it had to be someone extremely wealthy. Many wizarding families were very wealthy.

Franz, Louis and Tracy were all offered ice-creams as well, and Tracy, at least, was inclined to yield to temptation. But Franz frowned, and now the three British aurors surrounded them at a short distance, very alert, watching for threats. There were aurors from the host country, too. These ones were trying to remember their duty, but too many watched instead the great wizard with the famous Madam Diefenberger. But the pair were simply enjoying their ice-creams, and discussing Cissy's horse stud. Harry sat with his back to the wall out of long habit, and scanned the crowds every few minutes from the same long habit. Harry had always lived a dangerous life.

Franz was very aware of them. Their faces and colouring were so alike, although Cissy didn't wear glasses. She was small and slight, with a vivid, expressive face. Harry was of average height, lean, and in vigorous good health. They were alike in more ways than their looks, and were now enthusiastically discussing the big horse show in June. Harry regretfully declined to attend. It was too risky for him. Cissy would be there showing her horses, and Simon and Beau Barnes, who worked for Harry, would be there, competing in the showjumping. Adrian's friend, Connor Maguire, was also having a lot of success, and would go with them.

Harry, very aware of his surroundings, noticed the British Minister for Magic approaching even before their bodyguards, though a couple of the Italian aurors, at a greater distance, were already respectfully greeting their own Minister, who accompanied him. Two others were with them, and Harry and Cissy were shortly shaking hands and being introduced. Cecil Drysdale, the new Minister for Magic, was pressing Harry to join them for the formal dinner that evening. He was not surprised when Harry declined. Harry Potter's hatred of formal functions was well known. The Italian Minister was disappointed, but at least he'd had a chance to shake his hand, and he hadn't expected even that.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 2

Harry's wife, Julie, adored socialising. She loved being out with her famous husband, she loved being known as his wife, and she relished the prestige of having bodyguards assigned for their protection. That Saturday night, they were to go to a large party hosted by the Finch-Fletchleys. Harry obediently stood still for her as she arranged his deep crimson dress robes, embroidered with gold and navy thread, and combed out his long hair. Julie thought that his mane of white-streaked hair made him look so much more the great wizard, and she liked him to look the great wizard. She'd given up expecting him to act with any great dignity though. Madam Diefenberger, and even Julie herself, were a lot better at that.

The Finch-Fletchleys were very pleased at the appearance of the Potters, and Harry and Julie were happy and relaxed. After greeting their hosts, Julie and Harry circulated, Julie quickly finding a group of girlfriends to enjoy some spicy gossip, and Harry wandering over to where an acquaintance since school days sat. Kryall Malfoy hurriedly vacated a seat for him, and he joined Draco, Kryall's father.

"You've always been a muggle-lover," sneered Draco, after a perfectly courteous welcome, "Now I hear you're trying to change even the word!"

"I'll succeed, too," boasted Harry, though he wasn't really all that confident. "Remember that I get to teach just about every young witch or wizard in the country, and any of them refer to muggles gets an automatic fail." And he wasn't really intending to be that ruthless, either.

"There's a lot of the old families will be against you," argued Draco, "Especially my family. It's not fit for a wizard to have much to do with muggles."

"Medjkind," Harry said softly, tauntingly, "Not muggles, Medjkind."

"Muggles," said Draco, peevishly, "And if I wasn't going to die soon, I'd make sure they stayed muggles."

Harry turned a shocked gaze at Draco, and suddenly looked bleak. "What's the matter?" asked Draco. "You must have realised. I'm ninety-six!"

Harry stared into the distance. He wanted Draco to always be around. He didn't even know that he liked him. They'd seldom seen eye to eye, and had been bitter enemies in their school days. But he didn't want Draco to die.

Draco watched him. "It upsets you, doesn't it?"

Harry pulled himself together, and now only wore the cool, expressionless face that he always assumed when he felt more than he was willing to show.

But Draco knew. It was something he'd never considered, but maybe staying young was not, after all, such a wonderful thing. "How's Hermione?" he abruptly asked. Hermione Granger was the only one, aside from Harry and himself, still alive from their year at school, though there were a couple from the year ahead of them.

"She's fine, good as gold," said Harry, quickly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. No-one was fine at ninety-six! And he wondered how Harry was going to cope when his children and then his grandchildren started to die of old age. But then again, maybe Harry would suddenly start to age after all. Maybe he would suddenly die. No-one ever, as far as was known, had not appeared to age at all! Harry was in unknown territory. There were always those trying to kill him, too. Draco had a strong suspicion he knew some of them.

There was a waiter offering them drinks then. Harry accepted with a smile, but a second later, Draco noticed that the liquid had been vanished. Harry hadn't even raised it to his lips. Prudently, Draco tipped his own out on the grass, just in case the same poison tainted it. Harry brought Draco a new drink, from a flask that was being offered around more generally, then wandered off to join Adam, his stepson, who was deep in discussion with three others who worked in research.

"You were proved right after all," Adam said as he joined the group.

"I told you," said Harry, "You want magic to be logical, but magic has never been always logical." And a moment later, they were involved in enthusiastic and deep discussion about a subject that most people had scarcely heard of and would not have understood. This was another aspect of the great wizard. He was a very highly regarded intellectual.

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley had been watching him with some disappointment. One of her parties had been made memorable when Harry had thrashed four wizards in fist-fights, and then seduced the Cranborough girl. She loved her parties to be memorable. He was being perfectly well behaved now, though. She supposed she should be grateful that he was present.

More people were arriving, and now Mrs. Finch-Fletchley hastened to welcome Cecil Drysdale, the Minister for Magic, and the most important person of their world. Word spread, and yet more people came. The great wizard was present, and some were there who only wanted to fawn on him, much to his annoyance.

A couple of the aurors came closer, and Harry greeted his friends. But they were very tense, very alert, and again, Harry extended his senses, feeling for danger, for possible intention to attack. No-one seemed to be wanting to kill him. There was something, though, and some giggling teenagers suddenly found the great wizard standing right behind them as they prepared to play a sudden blast of music. It had been common knowledge for many years that Harry Potter had been conditioned to connect the agony of torture with a certain piece of classical music. Even after all these years, he'd sometimes be sick when he heard it. Once he'd fainted. Always he would react. Now he extended his hand, and a terrified girl gave him the recorded music they'd been planning to play as loudly as possible, for the fun of seeing his reaction. He cast his glance around at the ashen-faced trio, then turned and strolled away. But somehow the three girls couldn't seem to stop hiccupping, and their parents finally took them home.

Julie was looking at him then, and obediently he joined her. Then, for a while, Julie made sure that he behaved himself as they spoke to the most influential, and especially the richest people of their world. Julie's snobbery seemed inherent, and to show off her goodlooking and famous husband was almost her favourite pastime, even better than shopping. Harry concealed his boredom as best he could. He knew how Julie enjoyed this, and he loved his wife with all the fibre of his being.

Spiteful eyes followed them. Julie was having a wonderful time, and refused Harry's suggestions to go home. Harry looked carefully around again. There were enemies here now; he could feel them. But there were so many people that it was hard to isolate just who might attack. Julie tapped him on the shoulder, and said that she had to talk to Mrs. Cranborough and Mrs. Drysdale, and that he was to enjoy himself.

Harry nodded obediently, and went to stand with Patrick, one of the aurors, uniformed, on duty. His alert stance was noted, and two more aurors joined them. Harry thought that being close to the bodyguards would considerably reduce the likelihood of an attack. And while he made apparent light conversation with the aurors, whom he'd known for years, he continued to scan around, trying to detect the individuals who threatened him, without actually looking at innocent minds, and violating privacy.

A wizard fainted without warning. It seemed to be contagious. Another fainted close by. Harry was still alert, still scanned the crowd. Then he relaxed, and turned his full attention to his friends, asking about Paul's daughter, and Patrick's latest girlfriend.

Fred was suspicious, and interrupted. "Why did those wizards faint?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The heat?" he suggested.

Fred looked sceptical, and declared that it would really be better if Harry would tell them if he suspected a threat, and the culprits would be punished according to law. But Harry only suggested that he get them another drink, "The Punch is good, and non-alcoholic." And then he quizzed them about the other aurors whom he suspected were there, but who were not in uniform. He liked to know the aurors, in case they ever tried to hurt or imprison him, as had happened before under three different Ministers for Magic. Some had thought that a wizard too powerful to be controlled was automatically dangerous and shouldn't remain free. It was a long time ago, and he thought now that his known abilities were too great for him to be seriously threatened by the Ministry, even though he disliked Drysdale.

He strolled over to greet Kate then, the exotically beautiful, brown-skinned daughter of Beth and Jeremiah. His grand-daughter was of average intelligence, average ability, but superlative charm and popularity. Everyone loved Kate, and she was already second in command in her department at the Ministry. She had declared some years ago her ambition to be Minister for Magic. She was still only in her mid twenties, but Harry had begun to be sure that she would achieve her aim. People loved to give her just what she wanted, and she did appear talented at choosing people to work with, who had the abilities and efficiency needed, and yet were happy only to have her approval. Harry guessed, as long as she continued to choose her helpers well, her reign at the Ministry might not be altogether a disaster.

Julie was with a group of friends, casually letting slip that her husband had received a pressing invitation to do a series of lectures in New York. A reporter was one of those listening. She had a magical transcriber that took down faithfully every word that Julie uttered. There would be another article about Harry Potter in the next issue of Witch Weekly.

And then the reporter looked directly at Julie. "And how do you feel about it when people think you're his mother?"

Julie stared at the woman, her colour draining from her face. She'd never thought about it. She knew that Harry loved her, and she'd felt secure in the warmth of that love. But she was nearly forty, and she was starting to show grey in her hair. Her figure was no longer youthful.

The vicious words were an exaggeration. Julie did not look nearly old enough to be Harry's mother, but she certainly looked older than Harry, and it would only grow worse. Harry was there then, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her protectively close. He was looking at the reporter, showing an anger that had her backing off swiftly, then turning and hurrying away before the great wizard did something awful to her.

He took Julie home, but not all his reassurances could convince her that it was all right. For the reporter was right. Unless there was a change, even if she didn't look like Harry's mother now, she would in ten years' time. Harry pointed out that his second wife, Luna, had been nearly sixty when she died, and it had never bothered her. And no-one had ever said anything nasty to her about it either, that he knew. But Julie only wailed that Luna was dead before she'd even been born, and although that was not quite true, it wasn't far off. So Harry just held her, not knowing what to say to comfort her. Julie cried a long time in his arms that night.

Two days later, she watched from the door as he used an exercise machine in the gymnasium he'd organised for himself when he and his first wife took possession of the home. Harry was lost in the soothing repetition of muscle-stretching exercise. He did this most days of his life, and had for a very long time. He only wore exercise shorts, and Julie admired his body, as she'd done since they'd married. It was not a big body, and the muscles didn't bulge, but they were beautifully defined on a body that showed its strength of shoulders, back and limbs. Harry Potter had a very desirable body, and again Julie felt her upset and slipped away to cry.

It was only when Harry was out playing with his horses, that Julie returned to the gymnasium, and started a rigorous exercise campaign that she'd carefully planned. She loved her husband, and wanted to stay as youthful as he did. It was not going to happen, but Julie was going to give it the best shot she knew.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 3

School holidays commenced in July. Shortly into the school holidays, Adrian received his exam results. He had done well, although not brilliantly. Potions had let him down, and Harry sympathised with him. Without good results in Potions, he wouldn't be able to be an auror, as he'd wanted. Adrian was matter-of-fact, assuring his father that he'd changed his mind in any case. He no longer wanted to be an auror. He was not sure what he wanted to be.

That weekend, he joined his father as he rode over to see Cissy and her husband, Bridon Pickering. Harry was casually bareback as always, though Adrian thought a saddle enormously more comfortable. Cissy and Bridon bred Andalusians and were extremely proud of their stud. There were two stallions standing now, and they had twelve mares of their own, as well as the visiting mares. The stud was well established, and was beginning to make good money.

Cissy, if she chose, could have given up the spell-breaking work. But Cissy found it rewarding, and enjoyed the respect with which she was treated. She'd been thrilled with the recent increase in her power. She rarely had failures now. Five times she'd needed that extra power, and still hoped that one day she would be able to call up 'the strong magic' that Harry could use, a feeling in the air that daunted and impressed observers, sometimes having them run from him in panic, and once making a mediwizard faint. Harry had been over forty when he'd done that for the first time. Maybe her own power would increase yet further.

Harry smiled on her. Long before Cissy had started to do the spell-breaking, he had tired of what he'd started to perceive as a bore. But no-one else could do it, which made it rather an obligation. After all, the clients were not all stupid young wizards who got themselves into stupid duels!

Cissy was to go to Germany on Monday, and France the week after. There was to be a two week break then, and then three weeks straight in different countries in South America. She always told Harry where she was going. For years, as long as she was at least on the same continent, he'd turned up on the last day to clean up her failures, but he was beginning to think that would no longer be needed.

Harry and Julie were planning something different. In a few weeks, they would go to Zefron School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in California for a month, be accommodated there, and Harry would earn their way with lectures in the evenings, and spell-breaking each afternoon. The mornings were free. They'd been there before, and all of them were looking forward to their return.

Monday night, Harry was ripped by a worse nightmare than he'd had in a long time. He'd always had nightmares, usually concerned with his terror of helplessness and imprisonment. This time, it was more vague, but he'd woken himself with his own cry of despairing grief, and had then walked a long time in the night, seeking to restore calm to his trembling body.

Something was worrying him, and he was moody, abstracted. Wednesday night, again, he was walking in the night. Thursday, in spite of a message that he was not required, he joined Cissy in Germany, annoying Tracy and Louis by quizzing them about the precautions they were taking for Cissy's safety. He hung around all day, even though they pointed out to him that he was far more of a target than Cissy ever was. No-one tried to kill Cissy. Harry had long lost count of the number of times he'd dodged Death Curses himself. But this time, his worry was for Cissy.

Tracy spoke to the German Coodinator, and several German aurors reinforced Cissy and Harry's guard. Harry's instinct for danger was known to the aurors, and known, too, to the Germans. Britain was not the only country that kept a file on Harry Potter. Even as night fell, he didn't go home, and Cissy was grateful that they were to fly home first thing in the morning. Meantime, Harry prowled around, scanning his surroundings, varying his restless prowl sometimes by stopping still, staring into the distance, as if listening for the danger. There was something, he knew, and he wasn't leaving Cissy until she was safely home.

In other countries, they might have been joined for dinner by various important dignitaries, wanting to meet the famous wizard. But Germany was wary of him, and it was only Tracy, Cissy and their own Trip Coodinator, Vernon, who sat with them at dinner, while Louis stayed on guard. He would eat later. Tracy and Louis were nervous now, very alert.

Cissy had never seen Harry in dangerous situations, and became more and more annoyed with him, especially when he suggested quite strongly that she should give up the spell-breaking trips for a while. Idiot duellists could stew in their own juice, he said. Vernon gave him a look askance. He didn't want Cissy giving up the spell-breaking. He very much enjoyed this duty.

Harry announced that he would be staying the night, and returning home in the morning with them. Louis sighed. Harry ignored him. Cissy was like a daughter and he wasn't leaving her alone. She may be a powerful witch, but she'd never had to fight, and Harry's fighting abilities were legendary. They gave him a bedroom close to Cissy's, but he scarcely slept, and obviously expected either Tracy or Louis to be awake and alert as well, though always before, Cissy had just locked her door. More for Harry's protection than because they believed Cissy to be under threat, four German aurors also prowled the corridors of the hotel. There was one whom Harry recognised from a previous occasion, but he only glanced at him, and thereafter ignored him, to that one's relief.

He relaxed once they boarded the aeroplane, which relieved the aurors. It had occurred to them that maybe there was to be a plane crash, but when they saw him heave a sigh of relief and promptly go to sleep, they also relaxed. Vernon had a dull flight, with only Cissy left awake to talk to. Poor Tracy and Louis were very tired. They didn't usually stay awake and on guard half the night.

Listening to their reports later, Franz made some changes. He knew Harry very well. If Harry thought some danger threatened Cissy, he was prepared to believe him. There were to be six aurors for her when she went to France the following week. She had pointblank refused when Harry had wanted her not to go.

But it was not until Wednesday that Harry appeared in France. The aurors made no verbal comment, but their mental groans were clear to Harry all the same. His senses were heightened. He was having more frequent trembling attacks than usual, and was obviously very much on edge.

Suddenly, at morning tea, he put down his coffee and said to Cissy that she should have a healer make a thorough examination.

She regarded him with exasperation. "No! And for goodness sake, get out of my hair!"

But he pleaded, and she finally yielded. "Friday, then. Hermione can have a look. But don't forget I'm a healer myself, I'm sure I'd know if I was sick."

"Thank you, Cissy," he said humbly, not pressing for further concessions.

Afterward, as Cissy resumed work, he stayed outside, talking to Alex, in charge of the expanded team, then again restlessly prowled the area, looking for the danger that he knew threatened Cissy. The aurors were very alert. They thought that probably Harry was right, that danger did threaten, but they still expected the threat to be for Harry, not Cissy.

In the workroom, Cissy cured her procession of patients almost as easily as Harry did. A difficult patient arrived, and she was pleased to need that new ability, that level of magic felt by observers as a gentle tingle in the air. She raised her wand, her patient waited, trusting, and the tingle began to be felt in the air. Abruptly, Cissy's wand was dropped, and she fell onto the floor, rolling in agony, her fists pressed to her forehead. Outside, Harry spun around, disapparated, and was by her side as her heart ceased its beat.

Harry knelt by her. Cissy's eyes were open, calm, but he knew. He had felt the pain, and he now knew her death. He reached forward, and gently, gently, he closed her eyes. The shocked patient behind him tried to apologise as if it was his fault. Harry only glanced at him, and said that it was not his fault, that it had been going to happen whether it was him or someone else. And while he was at it, he cured the painful skin condition that the wizard had been suffering from. It only needed a glance.

Harry was quite calm. The danger was over, and he hadn't been able to prevent the death. The aurors looked after Cissy, and Harry finished the week's work for her. He always hated seeing a job unfinished. The funeral was not until ten days later. The Ministry took control of the funeral arrangements, and gave her the honour of a Ministerial Merlinus Funeral, Bridon having been all in favour of this rare honour for his wife. Harry was at the funeral, wearing his coolly imperturbable face, Julie and Adrian beside him. Two aurors stood behind the family, as always watching for danger. Louis and Tracy were there, along with, it seemed, three quarters of wizardry. Bridon was pale, haggard, but he was controlled as he said good-bye to his wife.

Cissy had been the only one in the world who showed the same sort of abnormalities in physiology as Harry. Hermione insisted on making a very thorough checkup of Harry. If Cissy could die so suddenly, maybe he could, too. Harry didn't think it mattered very much. Everyone has to die some time, and he was beginning to dread the prospect of outliving everyone he knew.

Beth came to visit. She hadn't come to the funeral, but she knew that she was needed. Harry, whether or not he showed it, was finding it harder each time he had to go to a funeral. Beth could offer comfort, and he found himself comforted. She visited Bridon, too. Beth was an unusual lady. She was a true natural Telepath, and often met hatred from others, who never knew why they hated. And yet, those same people would cling to her when they were in pain. And they found comfort.

Beth was going to outlive her contemporaries, too. She was forty-six, but looked much younger. Beth had known very deep loneliness and shame in her life. It dated from the time she'd started school as a child of five, been shunned by the other children, and finally stoned. Her primary schooling had lasted less than three weeks. That had been the end of innocence for her. But her aloneness had given her a rare emotional strength. And now her father drew comfort from her, as so many others had done over the years.

She helped in Julie's troubles, too. Julie still fretted that she looked too old to be married to Harry. Beth, with scarcely a word, helped her to put away her worries for a time. But Julie still exercised rigorously every day, and still tried lotion after lotion that promised a younger looking skin, even though she was a perfectly nice looking woman of thirty-nine.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 4

Harry had always been good at playing. He threw himself into his play, and his joy and pleasure were contagious. Beth had explained to Julie once that Harry's emotions were more intense than those of most people - that his joy was greater, that his pain was greater, too. Even that he loved more deeply. They had been married twenty-two years, and Julie felt the truth of Beth's statement. Beth thought that this quality was related to his ability to work more powerful magic than anyone else, that magic came from the spirit, and that Harry's was a special spirit.

On his ninety-sixth birthday, Julie sunbaked on the beach, as Harry floated on a surfboard, supposedly waiting for a suitable wave, but more involved in talking to his friend, Ben McKenzie. Ben had taught him to surf a few years before. The area was a popular place for surfing, though there were no carparks close. The beach backed onto the long wall that surrounded Zefron school, and every morning, Harry came through the gate that had been let into the wall. Ben never wondered about the school where he knew that Harry sometimes worked. There were spells and enchantments that ensured that Medjkind, as Harry now invariably referred to them, were not too curious.

Ben was suddenly alert. Dolphins often played in this area, but his voice was strangely hoarse as he called to Harry, "Harry, that's not a dolphin."

Harry turned, looking at the fin that arrowed toward a nearby surfer. Abruptly, the shark veered away, and Harry stared in its direction, sitting still on his surfboard, although Ben was yelling at him and the others to head to shore. It was only when the shark was well out to sea, and Harry had instilled in its small brain that humans were not for eating, that he caught a handy wave, leapt to his feet, and flew before the wave, laughing in his pleasure. He was in trouble when he joined the others on the beach. Even Julie rebuked him, though she should have known that he'd simply made the shark go away.

After the shark scare, the other surfers picked up their things and left. Julie, too, picked up her towel. She never stayed too long in the sun; it might be bad for her skin. Ben stayed, still talking to Harry. He was going to be a doctor, and was overflowing in his enthusiasm for his chosen career. Adrian came through the gate, looking dapper in the expensive clothes that he liked. He was sixteen now, and somewhat of a dandy. Adrian was walking on air. His mind was full of Thea. Last night, they'd made love for the very first time. He could not have believed that something could feel so good. Thea was happy too, and they were meeting again that evening.

There was a casual greeting for Ben and for his father as he joined them, but his mind was on a different track. His father was sitting on the sand, Ben on a towel, but Adrian, with complete casualness, pulled out a wand and conjured a chair, to keep his clothes clean. There was a silence. Ben was staring, first at Adrian, then at Harry, then at the wall that surrounded the school he'd never asked about. Adrian was scarlet. He knew better than to work magic in front of muggles.

"Vanish the chair, Adrian," said Harry calmly, and Adrian drew his wand and vanished the chair.

"Sorry," he said, his voice husky with shame, and in response to a jerk of the head from Harry, he retreated out of sight beyond the high stone wall.

Ben was staring down at the sand, his face white.

"Maybe you should lie down," Harry suggested practically. Ben was looking as if he might faint, and did lie down.

There was a procedure for when Medjkind accidentally witnessed magic. A commonly used spell could modify memory, and secrecy was maintained. But Harry firmly disapproved of interfering with minds, and there had been close friends before who knew what they were, and were able to accept it anyway. Thea, for instance, had seen Adrian use his wand to stun a man who was trying to drag her into a car, though he'd only been ten at the time. Thea knew, and she'd never told anyone else. Now Ben knew.

Ben finally spoke. "I always thought it odd, that you said you'd had laser surgery that helped reduce that old brain damage. I know now that laser surgery is nothing like that advanced."

Harry acknowledged, "No, it was some very precise magic."

There was another long silence. Ben lay on his back, his hands behind his head. He was no longer feeling faint, and was reassessing his friendship with this man. And yet, he remembered a day when they'd taken Harry out on a boat. They were cheering him up, since he seemed to have lost the ability to balance, and could no longer walk. "Remember that day we got so drunk? I forget who drove us back, but you and I, and the girls, we were singing!"

Harry grinned, remembering. "I'll probably never live that down. It was mentioned not five minutes after we set foot back at the school." He laughed, "I thought we were singing so beautifully, but Alec said it was appalling!"

And now Ben laughed too. His friend was human. The friendship could continue. "That shark?"

"I made it go away."

They went back in swimming for a while, then. Ben still wanted to talk, but Harry was looking at his watch. His spell-breaking stint was to start soon. Ben had a very serious question. "Why is it so secret? Surely a person with magic could do a lot of good for everyone."

When Harry had himself asked this question, it had been dismissed by Hagrid with a fairly casual explanation, which he'd accepted at the time. But now he knew better, and explained. "Wizard lore goes back millennia. We've always been around, but we've always been a very small minority. It's dangerous to be different. Remember the witch burnings? It's laid down in our law that we keep our heads very low. Just because we can do magic doesn't mean that we can't be killed almost as easily as anyone else."

Ben was thinking about witch burnings, and finally said, "I'll keep it quiet."

Harry thanked him, and rose, preparing to leave. "See you tomorrow?" he asked tentatively. His friendships were precious to him. But Ben was casual, and only said, "Of course."

Ben looked after him as he walked away. There was a long white scar slanting down the left side of his back, and another fainter, quite close to it. There were other scars, one on his front, just below his rib cage, and a couple on his face. Wizards were obviously not all-powerful. But they could make sharks go away - maybe it was not a bad thing to be friendly with a wizard.

Adrian, inside the little house on the grounds of the school, apologised again when Harry entered. He was very repentant, and yet his mind still kept straying to Thea. Harry regarded him with amusement. It looked like Adrian was like him in more ways than looks. He had a fair idea what had caused his lapse, and only told him to please not do it again.

"Did you modify his memory?" Adrian asked, but was not at all surprised when Harry shook his head, and said that he thought it'd be all right.

Ten minutes later, Harry reappeared, showered and dressed, wearing the cape of a wizard. Julie fussed over him, drying his hair with a spell, and then combing it as he waited patiently, even though it was getting late. She finally finished, handed him his wand, kissed him, and watched him vanish.

The next instant, his reappearance was in a wizarding area close by. They were waiting for him. There was a healer to supervise the cures, as Harry was not a qualified mediwizard, and aurors to keep him safe.

The healer was called Callum Ironside. He was nervous. The sudden death of Madam Diefenberger was known, and it was widely speculated that Harry could go the same way. It had been reported in the monthly journal, American Healer, that Madam Diefenberger had appeared to have acute head pain just prior to her sudden death. And it had been noted that the great wizard was known to have had similar episodes of such pain. Harry wasn't worrying, and only gave his usual genial greeting, and waited for the first client to be brought in.

The usual routine, then. Spells ran in fashions, and this year the fashion seemed to be the infliction of curly tails sprouting from buttocks. Not many of Harry's first dozen patients could sit with any comfort. Harry paid little attention to what he was doing. A scant moment of attention, a brief wave of his wand, and the person was cured. He didn't even bother muttering an incantation these days. There was another contingent from Europe. Madam Diefenberger was dead, and it was not known whether the great wizard would be willing to leave the teaching that he loved, in order to heal the results of what was mostly wizard duelling, a practice which he condemned. Harry was undecided, and had given no answer when queried. The service was seen as essential, and now he was, again, the only one.

There was a break, and a generous afternoon tea. The American Ministry did everything it could think of to make Harry happy, so that he'd be willing to continue with this service to Wizardkind. This was the second week that Harry had been doing the job here, and the healer finally managed to bring himself to the point of asking Harry whether he could please have a look at him. Harry regarded him with some amusement. He'd never voluntarily allowed Callum to examine him. He declined and reassured him that Healer Granger had checked him over just recently.

"Is she still alive?" asked Callum.

Yes," said Harry with emphasis, "And perfectly healthy too!" But his brow had become black, and Callum shrank back.

After the break, a creature was wheeled in. It had presumably been human, but now it looked more like a legless caterpillar. It didn't look like it could speak, but its eyes beseeched. Harry paused, and felt. There was more than one spell, and they were intermingled, inter-dependent. This would take a bit of effort. He'd seen something like this before, a wizard rendered helpless as a punishment and a prevention against further crime. It had been used instead of imprisonment. That had been a mass murderer, both mad and evil. But when he looked at this man's mind, there was no great evil, and no madness, just a piteous desire for release.

A wave of the wand didn't work, nor that higher degree of magic that Cissy had so recently mastered. And then he moved to reassure the man, saying that he was pretty sure that he could help him, but he was just going to finish off the rest of the day's list first, before coming back to him. He added a mental warmth and reassurance. It was needed, as the patient had become afraid that he was to be left after all. But Harry would make himself tired with this one, and so it was better if he was the last of the day.

He went on to eighteen patients, all from South America, where Cissy was meant to have been working. They were all quick and easy, and it was time to attack the legless caterpillar.

There were always observers, this time separated from where he worked by a transparent wall. Harry noticed movement as two more witches appeared, followed by three more wizards, even the American Minister for Magic. Harry frowned. Someone had been talking. He knew that his strong magic was impressive, but he didn't really like being watched, and wished that he'd just done the difficult client as he'd cropped up, even if it did tire him. And thinking about it, he more carefully felt for threats around him, and laid his own anti-apparation charm over the area in which he worked. Intermingled spells had been used before to attack him as he concentrated. Toby was the auror in the room with him, and he quietly looked at the surface of his mind. He didn't know Toby well, and he was in a vulnerable position when he worked his strong magic, and he mentioned it to Toby, too. That he should be especially alert, that patients like this could be used as a trap. He had no sense of danger, but his sense of danger had never been infallible.

Another wizard arrived, and this time Harry heard a mental sigh of relief from Callum, and looked back at the observers. Healer Breedon. He looked back at Callum, grinning. "I've done this hundreds of times, Callum. There's no reason to think I might die on your shift!"

Callum was embarrassed, but answered quite calmly, "You're the only one. We can't afford to lose you."

Harry shrugged. "You'll lose me one day. People will just have to get used to the idea that they shouldn't curse each other," and he turned to the pathetic creature on the ambulance trolley, as it was wheeled back in.

"Mr. Bruner, I'm going to call up some very strong magic. You'll feel a frightening feeling in the air, but it won't hurt you, and all you need to do is to be calm. And wait until I've finished. There's more than one spell on you and I don't want you jumping around until you're done. OK?" Bruner closed his eyes and opened them again. Yes, he felt.

Harry turned to Toby and Callum, and explained that the magic affected some more than others, that if they felt faint, they should simply leave the room. He ignored the observers. They were behind a wall, although they could hear what he said. It was up to them what they did. The headmaster of the school was among the observers, he noticed, and the head of their auror department, too, Briony Williams.

Harry positioned himself a little differently this time, so that his back was to the wall opposite from the door. He wanted no-one behind him. He was still wary of a trap, and when he commenced his magic, there was some extra magic added that protected himself from interruption. Tension increased in the room now, as the great wizard stood, wand raised, a look of calm concentration on his face.

At first there was nothing, or almost nothing. And then there was a barely discernible tingling in the air. Harry was very aware of his patient, in case he needed to impose calm. He was aware of the others in the room, too. He was less vulnerable than he once had been when he did this, when it had demanded all his effort, and then he would sometimes fail. Now he could raise to an intensity that no others could stand to be near. And he could divide his magic, keeping the patient calm, protecting himself, and even, if he chose, adding lightning effects, just as a bit of mischief. It was still likely to make him tired, though.

There was a humming in the air now, or it felt like a humming, but there was no actual sound. Toby forced himself to remain apparently unmoved. Callum had felt it before, and watched closely. He was still afraid that Harry would suddenly collapse and die. Harry was feeling the spells on his patient more clearly as each one broke before his magic. Two were interdependent, and the intensity in the air increased further.

"Hold still," Briony told a couple of the observers who looked about to bolt. "I don't think it will be much longer." The patient's skin already looked like the skin of a man instead of the skin of a slug. A light sheet covered the patient, as no clothing would fit him. But now a change of shape showed beneath the sheet. Harry hadn't finished, and the patient heard in his mind the simple command, Wait. And finally, the features of his face were restored. The magic was dying from the air, but Harry still felt for the magic that had afflicted the patient, and there was indeed one thing more. The Memory Modification was removed, and now the patient gasped and started trembling. He knew now who had done this terrible thing to him.

Harry glanced at the observers, and suddenly an opaque screen blocked their view. The naked man pulled himself from the trolley, trembling and crying his gratitude. Harry handed him an instantly conjured pair of underpants, jeans, and, a second later, a vivid red shirt.

"Dress!" he ordered, and the patient was pulled back from imminent hysteria, and dressed.

Harry regarded him, smiling. "My wife hardly ever lets me wear that colour, but maybe you'll get away with it for a little while."

The patient still trembled, still tears were close. Harry leaned against the wall. He was trembling too, but it was only from the effort. He waved his wand at the screen, which vanished. He glanced at Toby. Toby was supposed to be showing the man out, but Toby was pale, and made no move. His own trembling attack seemed to be over, so Harry went to the side of the man. "Someone with you?"

The patient nodded, and the voice was hoarse and broken when he thanked the great wizard, who had rescued him. Harry shrugged, "No problem," and left the patient in the company of three other Bruners who'd been waiting. Just another cured patient. As he'd said to Callum, he'd used his strong magic to cure hundreds of times, and must have cured many thousands over the years. He'd been twenty-two, he thought, when Hermione had first asked him to try and cure a man whom the mediwizards had failed.

He made up his mind. Not this coming school year, but next, and then maybe every alternate year, he would agree to travel again with the Ministry team, doing the spell-breaking. As Callum had said, he was the only one. Meantime, he'd do his three days teaching every week, and then do a day or two spell-breaking in London. The patients could travel to him if they needed him.

Some of the observers wanted to talk to him, but Harry pleaded fatigue and started walking toward Zefron. Toby walked with him, and there were two other aurors close. He always preferred not to apparate when he was too tired, as apparation could be very dangerous. He paused as they left the building, scanning the surroundings with his eyes and with his mind, but there were no threats apparent.

Afterward, Briony Williams, the head of the auror department, was very thoughtful. Harry really was irreplaceable. And after talking to Zefron's headmaster, some extra precautions were ordered.

The following day, as Harry lifted his hand to open the gate that led onto the beach, he paused and extended his senses. There were wizards out there, waiting and watching. Instead of going through the gate, he apparated, direct to a position a few hundred yards further away. It was what he thought. They were aurors, although he'd specifically requested that he be allowed his privacy. He was only every attacked in wizarding areas, but he supposed it wasn't really law.

He had Cloaking Magic on himself now, as he studied the seven aurors, some sitting on the sand, some strolling around. He was surprised that they apparently thought he needed such heavy protection. There were other beachgoers on the beach and in the water, and he scanned them, too. But they were all just enjoying themselves, and no-one threatened him. He dropped the magic that stopped him being seen, and an auror who'd been looking straight through him, jumped. Ignoring the aurors, he walked back along the beach toward the gate, where Ben, and often others whom he knew, would be expecting him. His long hair was tied back with a leather thong, he carried a surfboard under his arm, a small kitbag in his hand, and he walked with an easy, athletic stride.

The aurors whose duty was to protect him from danger, watched in fascination. He had such a reputation! They wore shorts and touristy shirts, and he knew that their wands would be inside their shirts. Although dressed as ordinary beachgoers, they didn't quite look like they belonged.

Harry felt for Ben, and knew that he was on his way. He'd been a bit concerned after the previous day, but Ben was coming. He left his surfboard on the beach, put his glasses inside the kitbag, and, still ignoring those who watched, he swam for a while. There were no sharks. Instead a few dolphins joined him, playing with him for a little, before, quite suddenly, vanishing.

Ben and Seth arrived together, laughing and joking, and were waiting for Harry when he emerged from the water. Ben was fine, and again they could surf together as if they were just two young men together again. Ben didn't again ask about magic. It was too far removed from his reality. And he'd thought about what Harry had said about it being dangerous to be different. His friend Seth had relatives who had died only because they were Jews. And he understood that it could indeed be dangerous to be different. Seth commented on the groups of aurors. At first, he said only that it was unusually crowded on the beach, but he continued to look, and suddenly said that they looked like gangsters ordered to enjoy themselves or else. Harry thought it was hilarious, and fully planned to pass along the comments.

Adrian was off with Thea somewhere, but Julie joined them, and she, too, gave the aurors a suspicious glance. She deemed herself not young enough to wear a bikini, but she was beautiful to Harry in whatever she wore, and when she lay down next to him, he stroked a finger down her back, and she shivered and looked back at him with sudden desire. He moved a little closer.

Ben glanced at the pair, and said casually, "Coming in?"

"In a little while," said Harry, not looking at him. The surf was getting up, and Ben and Seth left them.

"Those men?" asked Julie.

"Aurors," said Harry. "You can rely on not getting molested by beach perverts," and again he ran a finger down her back, "Except for me, of course..."

She giggled, but said that if he wanted to surf, he'd better do so. Harry was torn. He loved to surf, but he loved his wife more. She told him not to be silly, she was sunbaking, and he was supposed to be surfing. So he kissed her, picked up his surfboard and joined his friends.

The surf was especially good that day, and the aurors watched the great wizard as he balanced on his surfboard, and caught a wave, laughing and calling to his friends. It was a muggle sport, and a muggle sport mostly played by teenage boys. They disapproved a little - it was surely unsuited to the dignity befitting a wizard!

Julie, Adrian and Thea enjoyed their time at Zefron. Harry was working every afternoon, spell-breaking, most evenings lecturing, and he, Julie and Adrian seemed always to be going to balls, parties and other entertainments on the weekends. Adrian had a chance finally to wear each of the three sets of elaborately embroidered dress robes that Julie provided him with. And when important people were keen to meet him, he relished the importance and the novelty. He looked so much like his father, and there were many there who wondered if he'd have the same power. But while Adrian was talented, he was normally talented. He would never have anything like the power of his father. He was still sometimes asked for his autograph, though. It was a consolation prize, as his father never gave autographs.

By the time the Potters returned home, Harry thought he was over the death of Cissy. Everyone died. There was no point in rebelling against the fact. It was just a matter to be accepted. Life was a circle. One was born, thrived for a time, and then died. One should just accept the fact, and enjoy the pleasures that life offered while you could. But when he learned that Draco Malfoy was dead, he took his horse out on the moors and galloped a long time before stopping close to a stone wall. He didn't even know himself whether he cried for Draco, or cried because he was alone, and was only going to become more and more alone as everyone he knew, died before him.

**Chapter end**


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 5:

The Ministry was relieved that Harry had decided to resume his spell-breaking, especially that he would be willing to travel, even if it was only every alternate year. Like the Americans, they thought they should do everything possible to keep him happy, and instead of having the new Ministry Healer preside when he worked his magic, Vernon, who was still to be the Coodinator, spoke to Catherine Rutherford, who had been the Ministry Healer for many years. Harry liked her, and almost always cooperated with her. She was well into her seventies, but still well and active.

Before, when Harry had worked his cures, it had been at the practice of Healer Ben Weasley, and before that, Ben's mother, Hermione Granger. But Ben was retired, and Harry had made no moves to find himself a new healer. And security was so important. Harry Potter must not be lost to the world of wizardry. Arrangements were made. It took a few weeks, but finally, Harry was instructed to report to the Ministry, where he was to work his cures. He was to work every Thursday and Friday. It was expected that there would be heavy demand, as there was no longer anyone travelling. The clients had to come to London.

There was a large new room provided for him, actually within the Ministry building, a long way from the public areas, but close to the Transport Bay. Franz had ensured heavy protection. Harry sighed as he noticed that one side of the room was a transparent wall, behind which at least twenty chairs waited for observers, but brightened when Catherine stalked in. Catherine always seemed to stalk, an arrogant and bossy stride that pleased Harry. She'd been very good indeed when he'd really needed her, but didn't fuss otherwise. The Ministry Healers before her had fussed. He'd become fond of Jodie and Therese, but definitely preferred Catherine. Jodie and Therese were old too, now...

He ignored it when several observers were shown into their seats. He couldn't hear what they said, although they could hear him.

Catherine was flipping through her notes. "There's a lot," she warned. "Not many English, but quite a lot of Europeans, including three pumpkin-heads from Italy. About sixty patients all up."

"Pumpkin-heads!" said Harry. "There's been no pumpkin-heads for a long time."

Catherine was frowning at her notes. "Three weeks ago! They should have called you in earlier."

Pumpkin-heads were urgent. It was a wicked spell, luckily difficult to perform. A person's head was abruptly replaced by a pumpkin. But the person was still there, unable to see, hear, taste, or even feel, imprisoned within their own head. Nearly always, a pumpkin-head quickly went mad, and then he died, although the man/vegetable could live on for years before slowly withering away. It was a tragedy with a sickly comical appearance. None had ever been rescued before Harry had learned to do it.

Among the observers was a young medi-wizard who'd been doing some research on Harry's work, even reading a book that Harry had written on spell-breaking. For many of the things that Harry did, there were no words, and he had added something to the book. Only one with some telepathic ability would be able to fully understand that book, but Clarence Holmes had that ability. He was showing off his knowledge. "Pumpkin-heads often go berserk when rescued," he explained to those around him. "Harry's often been injured by them, including a severe head injury that left him crippled for a time."

"I'm surprised he still does them," said one.

"So am I," said the first. "I'm sure I wouldn't risk it!"

The pumpkin-heads hadn't arrived yet, and Harry was only doing the routine clients that he could do in his sleep. Holmes tried to extend his senses to look at his mind, as he could do with others. Instantly, he felt a block descend, and Harry, for the first time, was looking directly at the observers, frowning in annoyance. Holmes shrank back in his seat as the penetrating gaze found him.

For a long moment, Harry stared. Then Catherine asked, "Anything wrong?" and the auror drew his wand.

Harry still frowned, but said, "No, no, nothing wrong," and returned his attention to the room, where a witch with grossly enlarged breasts and buttocks waited hopefully, although very shame-faced. She'd gone to a charlatan, who'd promised that he could enhance her beauty, and could not then undo what he'd done. A scant glance from the great wizard and her clothing sagged from a more normal body. It was notoriously difficult to change one's appearance by magic, and that one very much regretted the attempt.

There was a break then, and a tea tray was wheeled in. Harry helped himself to coffee and leaned against the wall, drinking. The auror, Patrick, was by his side, but Catherine still sat at her desk.

Patrick glanced at the observers, most of them still watching. "It's like being in a bloody zoo!" he muttered.

Harry glanced at them, too, and agreed, suggesting they find somewhere else to have their coffee. Catherine was making some notes, and declined their invitation to join them, but looked up as they left the room. She knew Vernon wanted Harry to stay in the well guarded room, but she, too, thought that he deserved some privacy, and she, too, was feeling the annoyance of so many watching eyes.

Harry was leaning against the wall, now in the corridor, frowning into the distance, contemplating refusing to work while people watched. He was thinking about that wizard, too. He wore the insignia of a mediwizard, and he had some telepathic ability. Maybe he could work the telepathic cure. He'd taken a dislike to him, as he resented the attempt to probe his mind. But he should really talk to him. Maybe he could teach him. He should not be the only one who could break the 'unbreakable' spells.

But then Patrick was asking about the surfing, and Harry forgot the man whose name he still didn't know, and became enthusiastic as he spoke about surfing, and the dolphins that sometimes joined them. He needed his hands, then, to show how a dolphin could stand out of the water on its tail, and laugh with the humans. The coffee was set on the floor. Vernon was shyly waiting, reluctant to interrupt, but it was time to resume work. Harry noticed him and nodded, turning back to the room. Vernon picked up the half-drunk coffee. He'd organise something different for the following day, as the great wizard didn't seem to like having his breaks in the workroom.

Catherine greeted him. "The pumpkin-heads are here. I thought you might check whether they're alive so we know how many ambulance teams are needed."

In the waiting room, three monsters sat placidly, side by side. Harry nodded at the first, "Alive," hesitated at the next, before touching him, "Alive." He held the hand of the last for a few minutes, concentrating, searching, before pronouncing judgement. "Dead," he stated calmly, although he'd been upset the first time he'd found that. But that had been many years before, and now he took it for granted that some pumpkin-heads would die very quickly. He wouldn't do anything with that one. Probably, the healer would put him down, so that he could be buried. Before Harry had been able to state with certainty the fact of their death, it had been very hard for the relatives, having to wait until the vegetable started to wither away, and even then not quite sure when the time came for burial.

The observers waited and watched the empty work-room. They were looking forward to seeing the pumpkin-heads cured. From what Holmes had been saying, this could be exciting. Instead, the door of the observers' room opened, and the famous wizard was with them. He nodded at a few people he knew, and then spoke direct to that young medi-wizard, holding out his hand, and saying, "Hello, my name's Harry Potter."

Holmes was very nervous, but shook the hand, and introduced himself.

"Come with me," invited Harry. "I want to show you something."

Holmes rose, still nervous. He'd tried to look at the mind of the great wizard, and had been caught. He was frightened of punishment. But Harry only took him to the waiting room, and invited him to see if he could tell which of the pumpkin-heads were still alive. Holmes cast a nervous glance at Harry, but was told, "Forget about me, I won't hurt you. Just touch the patient, which often helps, and feel for the man inside." Holmes did as he said, forgetting Harry, who watched, and instead, concentrated. As Harry had done, he pronounced the first alive quite quickly, and hesitated over the second, finally saying, uncertainly, "I think he's alive." He took even longer over the third, finally saying that he could feel nothing.

Harry nodded. "Well done. That one's dead. Even if you don't learn to cure them yourself, at least you'll be able to say whether they're dead or alive."

Holmes gave a rather sickly smile, and Harry, seeing his trepidation, changed his mind about suggesting that he try and teach him to do the cures, only asking whether he'd like to join him in the workroom or return to the observers' room. Holmes was pale. He even felt rather ill. He was not a brave man, and there were many who still referred to Harry Potter as the Monster, because of his enormous magical power, because he was known to have telepathy, because he had single-handedly wiped out a race of magical creatures that had preyed on Wizardkind, and because of his unnatural longevity. Holmes chose to rejoin the observers.

Harry was frowning a little. Sometimes he heard thoughts whether he chose to or not. And that word 'Monster,' still hurt.

Pumpkin-head cures were telepathic cures. This was an alternative to the strong magic. It was a lot less effort for Harry, and he sometimes used it when he was ill or tired. The telepathic cure had been invented by Harry, before his power had grown so great. He'd sometimes had failures then. It was a matter of a telepathic probing within the mind of his patient, finding a particular point, that part of the mind that knew what the person should be like. With just a touch of magic, then, he could nudge that point, or awareness, and, reminded, the body would itself, cast off the spell that had changed it from what it was meant to be. But too often, it left his patients unhappy. Many felt it as an invasion, almost like a mental rape, although a few didn't feel it at all. Sometimes there would be an abrupt revolt against his intrusion, and as Harry had been in deep concentration, he'd be slow to react. He'd been quite often hurt by irate patients when he'd used that method. When healthy, therefore, he always preferred pure power. But he'd never yet managed to cure a pumpkin-head with pure power.

The observers straightened when the famous wizard reappeared, Catherine leading the pumpkin-head. An ambulance team was ready. Harry never started these patients until an ambulance team was actually there, waiting. Pumpkin-heads were not dangerous because of the horrible feeling of someone else's minds in their own, instead they went berserk because someone had done something unbelievably awful to them, and they wanted to kill. And somehow, they always knew that it was Harry who had probed. It was always Harry they wanted to kill.

Cissy had no telepathic ability, and only Harry's daughter, Beth, aside from himself, could work the telepathic cure, although she'd never attempted to cure a victim of the Pumpkin-head Curse. Beth seldom travelled from her sunny home in the Pacific Islands.

Patrick had been joined by another auror, and Harry was introduced to a large young man called Gareth. Harry used a barrier to try and protect himself from rescued pumpkin-heads now, but still preferred to have extra wands out and drawn, just in case.

Harry indicated, and the pumpkin-head was placed in a position.

"Do you remember how to do the barrier?" he asked Patrick.

Patrick nodded, and Harry showed where he wanted it. Try as he might to make his spells 'softer,' Harry could not make a spell that others could undo, which could be a problem if, for some reason, he was not available to undo it himself. A yielding, transparent barrier now stretched across the room, but Harry then added something to a door-sized portion. That portion was now almost transparent to telepathy, and this is where Harry went close, in order to do his work. Pumpkin-heads had become a lot safer for him since he'd developed the barrier, although he'd had to wait until his telepathic skills had increased sufficiently to work the cure from a distance, and without the physical contact, which had previously helped.

He was ready. Patrick had seen pumpkin-heads cured before, and warned Gareth how unpredictably dangerous they could be. Even when apparently calm, they could suddenly attack.

Harry had forgotten the observers now, as he began to concentrate. Holmes would have liked to listen in with his own telepathy, but didn't dare. For a little, there was nothing to see, just the famous man with his head down, concentrating. The monster melted back into a man, but no-one moved. Harry still concentrated. The cure was the easy part. Now he tried to keep the man calm, fighting the panic and berserk rage that Harry could feel within his patient.

At last, he raised his head, and stepped back. The man slumped to his knees, sobbing bitterly. Harry retreated to the wall, leaning against it, as Gareth called for the ambulance team. They had a hospital trolley ready, as sometimes these patients had to be stunned, or at least have a spell of Deep Calm imposed. This time, he was just led away, still crying. There were frightened glances toward Harry, but they were from two of the ambulance men, not from the patient.

The second pumpkin-head, and again Harry dropped his head, concentrating. This one was more difficult; he'd begun to die. Harry moved as close as he could, and was thinking he might have to do without the protection of the barrier. It took much longer, but the rescue was made, and the sick man sagged to the floor. Harry frowned at him. The man was pretty far gone. And yet, such was the nature of ex-pumpkin-heads, that when the ambulance men tried to lift him onto the trolley, he caught sight of Harry and struggled toward him, screaming in absolute rage, hands raised to attack. Gareth moved in front of Harry, and now that the patient could no longer see what he perceived to be his attacker, he collapsed. Harry waited until the patient left the room, out of sight behind the big auror, then calmly thanked him. All in a day's work.

There was a break for lunch then, to his relief. He'd worked hard, especially with that second one. Catherine noticed that he was trembling, and suspected that he'd over-tired himself, but said nothing. It was mental fatigue, not physical fatigue, and as soon as he'd stopped trembling, he said that he was just going for a walk, and would be back in an hour.

Vernon edged himself into the room. It was the fault more of his supervisors than of Harry that he was becoming more nervous. Mr. Potter had to be made as happy as possible, and Mr. Potter had to join the Minister and the Heads of Department for a formal luncheon. But Mr. Potter said Thank you very much, but he was going out. And he slipped off his cape, draped it over a chair, and walked out, quickly followed by Patrick.

"Where are we going?" Patrick asked after a while.

Harry answered, "I just wanted to walk for a while. They always give me the creeps, pumpkin-heads."

Patrick nodded. He could understand that. Harry stopped, scenting, and a few minutes later, both Harry and Patrick were eating some greasy fast food, washed down with soft drink. Two more aurors, who'd followed them, were envious. Patrick was on duty, too, but he could argue that it was important that Harry saw him as a companion, and didn't disapparate and leave him behind. The others were hungry, but had to put up with it.

Back at the Ministry building, poor Vernon was being rebuked. The elaborate luncheon had rather lost its point when the guest of honour declined to attend.

Patrick mentioned it to Harry. "Drysdale expected you to join him for lunch."

Harry agreed, and said casually, "They stop organising these things if I just don't turn up."

Patrick laughed, but said, "He's the Minister for Magic! He could make a bad enemy!"

"Too bad. If he has me killed, well, it's time I died. And now the Dementors are gone, I doubt if anyone could keep me prisoner - or not for long." And when they started to walk back, Harry referred to it again. "There was a Minister once, who adored having me at formal functions. I pandered to him. It wasn't any good. One day, I was working the strong magic, and an auror hit me in the back with a stunner. It made me very sick. It seems he thought I was a potential danger - or something."

Patrick said that he thought it very unlikely he'd be attacked by the Ministry again. "These days, we just keep getting told how vital it is that you're kept alive."

But Harry replied in an irritated tone, "I'm not going to be alive forever!"

That was the second time that Harry had referred to his own death, and Patrick took note. It was a matter for concern - it was as if the great wizard was not really concerned whether he lived or died. He would report to Franz, especially that earlier comment, If he has me killed, well, it's time I died.

The afternoon's work went smoothly then, and the following day, and the weeks after, Harry found that fairly simple refreshments were provided in a nearby room, for tea-breaks, and for lunch. He forgot about his half-formed intention to ban the observers, especially after the transparent wall was treated so that they were not so clearly observable from the workroom.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 6:

A year later, and Julie and Harry were away, out of touch. They were giving themselves a rest. Julie had became more and more self-conscious about her age, and Harry found his world harder to live in, as so many of his friends died, one by one.

Hermione died in her sleep, while the family were far away. It was as if, even now, she was watching out for Harry, as she'd done for so long. When they returned, she was already buried. It was one funeral he didn't have to go to.

All of his first family, the children of himself and Ginny, were now old. Some of the in-laws resented his continuing youth, but his own descendants never seemed to do so, and it had become a bit of a ritual that new babies had to be taken to Grandfather Harry for inspection, and admiration. He had never lost that feeling of wonder as he studied the face of a tiny baby, and the new mothers loved to watch him as he showed that wonder and pleasure. It helped arm him against the pain of too frequent funerals. The children all called him grandfather, although for most he was the great grandfather, and now, for a few, he was the great, great grandfather. Once they were grown, he became just Harry. It would be ludicrous for adults, often looking older than he did, to go on calling him 'Grandfather.'

**HP**

The years passed. Adrian left school, trained as a security guard, and went to live in America, near Thea.

Harry no longer taught at Hogwarts. He no longer took as much pleasure in it, and now he alternated his time between spell-breaking and long trips away with his wife.

Julie, who had always loved socialising, especially when she could impress, seemed to be unhealthy these days. After a party, or other entertainment, she was ill and tired for days afterward. It was only one day that Harry unexpectedly returned to the bedroom as they prepared for the annual Ministry Ball, that he discovered the reason. Julie was in the process of putting a spell on herself. It was a short-lived spell that made a person look younger for a night, but paid for with several days subsequent mild illness. Harry was devastated. Julie should not do that. She would shorten her life. Julie cried when she confessed, and Harry held her with love, and his own eyes had tears. They didn't go to the Ball.

The following day, he suggested that they leave behind everyone they knew, and live as Medj. And if she didn't want to do that, they could live as wizards, but somewhere where they were not known. He didn't quite know where that might be, but somewhere, he must be unknown, maybe in Asia or Arabia.

Julie was still only in her forties. Harry thought her concern exaggerated, but he didn't know the hurts she endured. Her girlfriends were a shallow lot. Sometimes they would offer false sympathy. Sometimes, they encouraged young and beautiful women to make up to Harry. It annoyed him. How could they think he might want anyone else when he had his Julie? Once, most unfortunate of all, she was with Harry and Adrian at the beach. Harry and Adrian were romping in the shallows, both of them showing the attractive bodies of youth, and a woman, perfectly innocently, said that she must be so proud of her goodlooking sons. Again, she cried long into the night. The following day, Harry called a halt to the spell-breaking trips, and they vanished for three months, as they had begun to do more and more.

Harry's hundredth birthday approached. He had a feeling the family were planning a big celebration. He and Julie vanished for six months that time. The last thing he wanted was a big celebration for his hundredth birthday.

Beth came again for a while, and the comfort she offered, helped. For a little, both Harry and Julie were happier. The Quidditch matches resumed. They had lapsed when their hosts were gone, although Harry had said that they were welcome to use his home for the matches while he was away.

Harry talked a lot with Caradoc Dearborn, who lived on his property, although not as an employee. Caradoc was the only person he knew older than himself. Caradoc was exceptional. When in his twenties, he'd been put under the pumpkin-head curse. Incredibly, he'd kept himself alive and rational for ninety years. Deprived of all sensory input - yet he had not gone mad, and had not died. Harry finally pulled him out of the curse, and although he had then begun to age at a normal rate, yet, chronologically, he was twenty-five years older than Harry. And he hadn't stayed still in those ninety years while his body slept. Caradoc had a large wisdom and an infinite patience. He was married now, a local woman thought to be a bit strange. Her name was Clare. But even Caradoc didn't seem to be able to help much. Caradoc was calm, patient. Harry was seldom patient.

Whenever he was home, Tammy was at his heels. A dog can be as close as any human friend. But when Tammy died, Harry and Julie didn't think of replacing her with another dog. They were spending a lot of time away these days. It was easier for Julie, and it was better for Harry when his wife was not made miserable by those whom she still called friends.

Julie started to visit her parents more. There was a neighbour. She'd known him from the time they were children. He was the same age as herself, widowed now. But it was still her own husband she loved.

One day, she told Harry that he should not come home from his work that week, as he usually did every night. Instead he should stay in Germany without her. She refused to say what she would be doing, and she forbade Harry to worry. Harry worried. But as he was told, he stayed away. The aurors had a difficult time with him that week, as he was irritable and restless. He wanted to be alone, and the aurors felt that he should never be alone.

Once, after he'd slipped his bodyguards, a Death Curse came whizzing at him. But he just hit it to the ground, in another unique ability, confiscated the man's wand, and inflicted him with forty years of boils, more severe than he usually might have done, but he was in a bad mood. He didn't tell the aurors, only sending the wand to Ollivanders' wand shop. The man might find it again one day, in time to be buried with it in his hand, as was important for wizards.

It happened to be a heavy week in Germany, and it was late Friday afternoon before Harry returned, tired. He even travelled in the aeroplane with the rest of the team, rather than apparating as he normally did. No-one else could apparate more than a few hundred miles.

Julie had expected the scars and bruising to be gone by the time he returned. The medj healer said they would be. She had believed him when he said that there would be 'some minor discomfort.' Unfamiliar with the reassuring lies customarily used among Medjkind, she'd not been prepared for day after day of severe pain. There had been a facelift, they'd done something to her lips to make them thicker, and there had been upper thigh liposuction. She was still in pain, she looked terrible, and she was not supposed to cry in case it damaged the scars. Harry was appalled, and Catherine, weary after her week's work, found him on the doorstep demanding that she come instantly and fix his wife. Catherine no longer apparated, but Harry just said that he'd take her, and she sighed and gave in.

Lotions almost immediately cured the bruises and pain of Julie's face and thighs, and gentle healing spells repaired the remaining wounds of cuts and sutures. Julie was fifty-two. She was middle-aged, and all her lotions, and exercise, and whether or not she dyed her hair, or had face-lifts, was not going to change the fact. Catherine was deeply sorry for her. Catherine was eighty, and had been in her forties when she'd first started looking after Harry as the Ministry healer. Harry still looked exactly the same as he'd done then. He was a hundred and eight. Catherine could understand Julie's misery.

After Harry took Catherine home, they held each other close all night. Harry loved his wife with all his heart. He thought she took far too much notice of what other people thought, but she always had. It was not going to change now.

Julie had come to a decision. She didn't tell him yet. Instead, she asked him to organise a month's holiday as soon as possible. Harry went to the next week's work a little happier. Julie seemed more resigned, and had abandoned her rigorous exercise programme, which had always been a labour to her. Maybe they'd work it out together after all. Vernon made no difficulties about his month off, which would be straight after the short three days scheduled for Holland, plus two days in London.

Julie had no particular plans for the holiday. Instead she joined him as he roamed the estate in the warm June weather, admired the new foals with him, and took him shopping, ordering several new sets of dress robes for him. She loved to dress him up. Harry tolerated it. He nearly always did what Julie wanted. She even went horse riding with him, though she hadn't done that for years.

They visited together. Next door lived Bridon Pickering, who'd been married to Cissy. He was now re-married, to the youngest daughter of Melissa and Jason Wiley, who worked for Harry. They had a small son.

The weather stayed warm and sunny, and Harry and Julie found a pleasant and private spot among some trees. There was always something especially nice about love-making in the open air.

They did no socialising among wizarding society, and Harry let it be known that he wanted no visitors, except for Natalie and Daniel Broadfoot, of course, who wanted to show Grandfather Harry their new baby daughter, Claudette. This one was a great, great, grand-daughter. Harry was filled with tenderness and wonder, as he always was. But suddenly a new feeling took him, and he hurriedly returned the baby to the mother, and disappeared. Natalie looked questioningly at Julie, as, for a moment, it seemed that Harry was about to cry.

In a secret bedroom, Harry was crying. He had suddenly had a vision of that tiny baby growing up, ageing and finally dying, as he was left alone. Always the same, always alone, always the freak, a Monster, maybe. And the temptation rose in him again, to make himself die. Would Julie be happier without him?

When Julie found him, still in that secret bedroom an hour later, the Broadfoots had gone. She went to him, and held him a while. Even now, he trembled. She thought he'd be better when he had a new, younger wife. She was going to give him his freedom, and take her own. They'd both be happier. One more week together, being as close and as happy as they could, then she'd leave, and he'd have a week to come to terms with it before the next scheduled spell-breaking trip. It was to be three weeks in America, she knew. That would give him a good long time to adjust to her being gone. Harry held her close. He was frightened, and didn't want to know what she was thinking. In a sudden moment of confusion, he thought that she might want to kill him, as it was time he died. She could do it if she wanted, he thought. It was time he died.

The fancies were gone by the morning. They were going to a horse-show, but they were going in disguise. And they laughed as they adjusted wigs, dressed in clothes they would not normally wear, and Harry disguised his facial scars in a skill learned long ago. Harry suggested he cut his hair, but Julie said 'Absolutely Not,' he could conceal it under a hat. And then she tried to make his false beard look a little more realistic.

Simon Barnes was one of Harry's employees, a son of Chris Barnes, and Chrissy, whom Harry had employed, separately, when they were young. Simon was married to Naomi, the oldest daughter of Jason and Melissa Wiley. Together they looked after his correspondence, his paperwork, and managed his wealth. Harry viewed them as family. Simon and Naomi thought it was quite obviously the duty of the Barnes family to look after Harry as long as he lived. Their son, Archie, was being raised in that belief.

Simon had achieved a big reputation in the showjumping world, although his brother, Beau, had left the area. Adrian's friend, Connor Maguire, was with him, on a big brown mare on long-term loan from Harry. Harry seldom sold his horses, as he wanted them back eventually, to live out their lives in his Old Horses' Paddock. It was his conviction that old horses should be pampered, and only when it was time, should they be put down.

So Julie and Harry, in their slightly outlandish clothing, their wigs, and Harry's false beard, laughed and joked together, and applauded as Simon and Connor came first and second in the Open Showjumping. Neither Simon nor Connor noticed them, but Franz had suspected that he might be there, and had sent several aurors to protect him in case he was. It was several hours, though, before Fred came across them in a passionate embrace behind a pavilion. Harry looked up, beard askew, and winked at Fred, unashamed. He murmured to Julie, who also looked up, then nodded at Harry, and they were gone. Fred hoped they'd gone home. He suspected that the aurors were not the only ones present who'd been looking for Harry.

Julie and Harry discarded their disguises, and frolicked in the indoor swimming pool for a couple of hours, seen there by Chris, as he came to make his daily check of the pool. It had been Chris who had suggested that Harry put in a pool in the first place, and it had been Chris who'd looked after it ever since. He was pleased to see them looking so happy. Harry had been so moody lately, and Julie seemed often frankly depressed.

The fine weather held. Harry's property basked in the sunshine. The extensive gardens, now largely under the control of Lillian, daughter of the cook, had seldom looked so beautiful. Glossy horses grazed on lush grass, and three foals romped in the sunshine. Julie put off telling Harry for another day, then another.

It was only when a day dawned cold and wet that Julie took it as a signal that now was the time. She couldn't find her husband. He was hiding. He didn't want to know.

Out on the moors, leaning against a stone wall, Harry sat on the wet ground, next to his horse. He'd covered the skewbald with a conjured blanket. She was warm enough, although he shivered, maybe with cold. He was occupying his mind with telling off the mare's ancestors, one by one, as he remembered them, all the way back to his original mare, Sheba, whom he had loved. He had leaned his head against the wall, not shielding himself from the cold sleet. He looked very sad, and tears mingled with the raindrops.

Mid-afternoon, suddenly worried, Julie sent out searchers. Maybe he'd been thrown, and was lying somewhere, hurt. Even the best horseman can have an accident.

It was Caradoc and his wife Clare who found him, still sitting in the same spot he'd sat for most of the day. The mare was grazing a little way off. Clare gazed off into the distance. The moors were so misty. Even the mare, quite close, was not clearly visible. And the lone figure leaning against a wall made her sad. Clare was an artist, and this scene would be the inspiration for one of her greatest paintings.

Caradoc slipped off his horse, and suggested to Harry that it was time to go home. Harry quite slowly turned his head up toward him. Without the glasses he always wore, he somehow looked so much younger, so much more vulnerable. He nodded wearily, whistled up his mare, vanished the blanket that had protected her from the cold and the wet, and the three horses turned their heads for home. They were all tall horses, all the descendants of Sheba. They were only walking, as Clare never had learned to ride well.

After a while, Caradoc spoke. "You were thinking of making yourself die, weren't you?"

Harry didn't deny it. "It would have made Julie feel guilty. I couldn't do that to her."

There was a silence, and Caradoc spoke again. "Is she going to leave you?" Harry only looked bleak and didn't answer.

There was another long silence, and then Clare reached out and touched him, pointing. "Look!"

Harry looked. There was an area of bright sky low down on the horizon. Maybe it wouldn't rain forever, and he smiled at Clare. "Thank you."

Three months later, Julie married the widower she'd known all her life. She would always love Harry, but she was a lot happier with Mervyn, who was a man of her own age. Harry had put not the slightest bar in her way. He would always love her, and he'd ensured that she would never want for anything. She'd always been expensive. He was not at the wedding, and no longer was seen in public. Several sets of brand new, and very expensive dress robes went unworn.


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

Chapter 7:

About the time of the wedding, Naomi mentioned to Harry that the paperwork was complete for his change of name. Medjkind records were important, and Harry had decided that he'd been around long enough as Harry Potter, even though, according to records, his home, for instance, was now owned by the grandson of the original Potter. But now the records stated that Harry Potter was dead, and his home was passed on to Henry Bellamy. Naomi handed him a new passport, too, as well as work permits. With the help of magic, the documents would be accepted, without questions or doubt, in any country. They stated his age as twenty-one at date of issue. He didn't look quite that young, but they'd be good for twenty years or so that way. Naomi wondered why he'd asked for work permits as well, as it was not needed for his spell-breaking trips. The Ministry looked after all the arrangements for those. And Harry had ample money for any holiday he wanted to take. If he chose, he could live indefinitely on the proceeds of investments.

Harry didn't know, himself, why he wanted work permits, but put them away carefully.

His own world still knew him as Harry Potter, although he was mostly referred to these days as the great wizard, or, sometimes, the Monster. It was only for Medjkind that he would be Bellamy.

His behaviour on the spell-breaking expeditions made it an interesting job for the aurors. When married, he had almost invariably gone home at night, although every other wizard could only apparate a few hundred miles at a time. But Julie wasn't there any more, and home was too lonely. Instead, his restless search for fun and entertainment took him from one dangerous pursuit to another. The reward for his death was now such that it would make a wizard very rich indeed, and the aurors were under firm orders to try and be with him at all times. He was irreplaceable.

But Harry did exactly as he chose, was frequently out by himself, even overnight, got himself into fistfights, and had seduced a female bodyguard before they even knew that Julie had left him. Franz was in despair. Luckily Alex, routinely in charge of the team of aurors, was not a worrier. He'd known Harry for nearly thirty years, since he, himself, was newly qualified. He'd seen him in trouble, had seen him close to death, and had seen him achieve incredible things. Alex did his job as best he could, but chose to draw amusement rather than annoyance from the rash activities of his friend.

There were never major crime problems among British wizardry when Harry was around, although troubles had developed sometimes when he'd gone away for long periods. The theory was that ambitious Dark Wizards might simply go overseas rather than run the risk of raising the ire of the great wizard. It was another reason for keeping him around and healthy, and another reason not to begrudge a large allocation from the aurors.

Harry was happier when he knew the aurors well, and liked to have the same team week after week. Besides Alex, he usually had Patrick and Fred, large Gareth, and a couple of youngsters - Adam, who was twenty-five, and Ricky, the only newly qualified auror in years, as there seemed little need these days for large numbers. Unusually, for an auror, Ricky was small, only five foot six. He had lightning reactions, and was already respected among his peers. His parents called him Quicksilver. Harry liked young companions, and the more he was content to play with the aurors rather than going off by himself, the better. Franz avoided rostering those four of his aurors to whom he'd been 'Grandfather Harry' though, as he thought he'd probably pay even less attention to them than he did to the others. So redheaded Tom Davenport, and the three other descendants of Harry who'd become aurors, missed out on this favourite duty.

There was a new healer assigned to them. It didn't appear a good choice. Graham was too young, not very experienced, and distinctly nervous of Harry. On his first trip, he said hesitantly to Harry that Catherine had told him that he was to do the Niscos and to check his weight at the beginning and end of each trip. Harry said No. Graham said nothing. That was some weeks ago now.

This week the team were in Russia, although it was the first time they'd visited. Wizardry was a very small minority indeed in Russia, and it was only in the last decade that they'd had much to do with the rest of Wizardkind. Unfortunately, the custom that seemed to have taken off with most enthusiasm was that of wizard duelling. Russia's one and only mediwizard was observing. Harry cured three patients, then conjured an easychair, sat himself down, and said to Graham, "I reckon you can do the rest of them, and maybe teach Gus here while you're doing it." And he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and his feet up on a footstool that appeared at exactly the right height and position for him to take his ease, and relaxed.

Graham was appalled. "You know no-one else can do what you do!"

Harry smiled, "Try it!"

Gareth was with them in the room, and he, too, turned a questioning look toward Harry. There was the Russian Coodinator and translator, too. Harry was apparently paying not the slightest attention.

Reluctantly, Graham turned back to the patient. It was the boils curse, which was a standard curse, easily removed by any qualified mediwizard. So then why did he need the great wizard? Still tense, without confidence, Graham spoke the words of the counter curse, and to his own surprise, cured his patient.

"Now show Gus," ordered Harry. Graham demonstrated to Gus, as he himself had been taught not so long before.

Harry rose and strolled out of the room, Gareth hesitating over whether or not to follow him. But Ricky and Adam were just outside. Harry cast a glance around at the waiting patients. Three more wizards appeared to be suffering from boils. He beckoned to one, who rose, hesitating. And this time, after a couple of attempts, it was Gus who was able to cure the man, then the other two. Harry yawned. He suspected that there were no patients here at all who required his unique talents. It was just that their healer had not been taught his job. He wandered outside to see Alex, leaving on his cape, as it was not unusual garb for this cold country.

"Something wrong?" Alex asked.

"Nothing wrong," answered Harry casually, "I just thought I'd leave Graham to do my job today, might give him a bit of confidence."

Alex was quick to comprehend, and laughed. "You mean they're just ordinary patients?"

Harry smiled, "I haven't seen one yet that can't be cured by any competent healer. They've paid a lot to have their mediwizard get a bit of training!"

But now he had nothing to do, and looked around restlessly. Alex watched him uneasily, and said, "Harry, what are you planning?"

Harry glanced at him. "Nothing," and walked back toward where Graham was now teaching Gus how to reverse the Trembling Curse. Harry was trembling himself, but that was normal for him, and no-one took any notice.

New patients had arrived, and Harry noticed one that probably would need his personal attention. He supposed he'd best stay around, and to the amazement of Ricky and Adam, he sat himself in the waiting room, closed his eyes and appeared to doze. He'd walked a long time the previous night, after one of his nightmares, and was tired.

Graham looked for him a half hour later, saw that he was asleep, and only set the difficult patient to wait, himself proceeding with the next patient, under the Snail Curse. The woman looked perfectly normal, but could only move extremely slowly. She'd been hit with the spell by a wizard intending to rape. But she'd already got him with the 'No Way' spell that witches know, and the man was unable to rape anyone. Now, every morning, the man would look down at himself sadly, and wonder if he'd ever be able to enjoy sex again. He was not among the patients set down for Harry. He'd been told that the woman's brothers would be watching for him if he thought of a cure.

Harry was more deeply asleep, Ricky and Adam close by him in case any of the patients were assassins in disguise. Graham had still not woken him. He looked so tired and sad in his sleep. It was nearly lunchtime before Harry suddenly jumped and looked up, eyes wet, and said to Ricky, "Jebedee's dead!"

Ricky looked at him confused. Who was Jebedee? But Harry just rubbed his face and went off to freshen up.

He needed the strong magic for the difficult patient, as he'd expected. It was the first time that Graham had seen it, and he watched in sheer awe as Harry concentrated, and produced a power in the air that almost made his head hurt. It was like he was somehow in the middle of a maelstrom, but with no actual movement, hardly any actual sound, and nothing to see, except that it felt like there should be lightning all around.

At lunch, Alex said to Harry, "Ricky told me that you said that Jebedee's dead." Harry nodded. Alex said softly, "That's a great loss to us all." Alex knew that Jebedee and Harry had been close friends for a long time, but Harry only nodded again.

Graham was watching. After work, he was going to muster up his courage, and insist that Harry allow him to do an examination. He didn't look well, and was trembling again. Alex put out a hand and touched him, provoking a comment, "Everyone dies, there's no good getting upset about it," but there was a great pain in Harry's eyes, and he pushed away his meal. He would have liked to leave, but he knew that at least one, and probably two, of the aurors would then feel obliged to abandon their own meal, in order to stay close to him. He did sometimes think about their convenience.

He hung around for the afternoon, while Graham and Gus did the work, only wanted once, and then it needed only a wave of his wand. Gus made a lot of notes, and would be a much better mediwizard in the future. Gus was with them at dinner, and Gus and Graham became very involved in discussion. The Russian translator was very hard at work. Harry listened closely. He'd never learned Russian, though he had dozens of other languages by this stage in his life. There were a couple of other Russians there, whom they assumed were the equivalent of their Minister for Magic and maybe an offsider. There were a few other Russian wizards hovering around, also, acting as guards. Alex wondered if they were any better trained than the mediwizard.

Harry was beginning to get a feel for the language, but decided he needed more exposure. "I'm going out for a while," he said to Alex.

Alex nodded. "Pat? Fred? Harry's going out." Patrick and Fred were covering the evening and night shift.

"Alone," added Harry.

"Now, Harry," protested Alex.

Harry grinned at him. "Pat and Fred were walking with me last night, they could do with a rest!"

Alex replied with asperity, "They've been resting all day."

Graham was feeling rather cocky after his day's work, and the prestige of being the expert in the eyes of Gus, and, besides, he suspected that Harry was not quite well, and thought that he should be checked. He tried to put authority in his voice, therefore, as he firmly requested Harry to report to his room for an examination before going out. Harry hesitated. Graham was holding his breath, and Gus was watching, interested. Harry was suddenly sorry for Graham, whose relief was profound when he looked at his watch, and only asked, "Now?"

Graham had sets of monitors that had been modified especially for this purpose. Harry was not like other wizards, and certain measurements were off the scale of normal monitors. In the past, Harry had interfered with the monitors of Ministry healers in order to disguise his abnormalities. But his differences were now common knowledge, especially among healers. Graham couldn't believe his luck when he was allowed, not only to check the Niscos and weight, but to do a more thorough examination.

Harry put up with it patiently. He might be working with Graham for many years, and he quite liked the boy, who'd tried hard not to let himself be frightened of him. Graham's results were as expected - Harry was thinner than he should be, and the LV and a couple of other measures of general health were down from his normal but not by a large amount.

Harry was regarding him, a slight smile on his face. "Satisfied?"

Graham said with dignity, "I'm satisfied. Thank you," and Harry strolled out.

Alex was waiting for him, very surprised that Harry had been so cooperative for Graham, and now hopeful that he might be given a similar cooperation. Harry accepted his escort to his room, and even invited him in. But once inside, Harry pulled his hair back into a ponytail, conjured some clothing that looked as close as possible to the rough and drab gear that seemed to be the norm among the Russians, and turned to Alex and asked what he thought.

Alex said that it was very good, and then, persuasively, "How about you do some for me, too, and we'll go together?"

Harry replied only that he wanted to be alone.

"You cooperated with Graham!"

Harry grinned, "You're a lot tougher than Graham, I reckon you can take a refusal," and silently disapparated. They always followed him if he just walked.

He reappeared a couple of blocks away from the hotel. He didn't know this city, and now walked, looking for a bar. He was still bent on learning Russian, and was listening to the thoughts of those he passed in order to help in the learning process. He reckoned it was not really an invasion of privacy when he didn't know the people and they didn't know him.

Two hours later, he'd been adopted by some Russian workmen, who were pressing drinks on him. They thought his accented Russian very funny. To begin with, Harry treated his drinks, so that they only looked alcoholic. He hardly ever had too much to drink. But suddenly he changed his mind. Jebedee was dead, Julie had left him, and he abruptly decided that getting drunk might not be such a bad idea after all.

More hours later, and Gareth found him. Alex was informed, and Patrick and Fred were sent to join Gareth. The three aurors lounged against the wall, close by, as Harry and his new-found friends sang drinking songs, getting louder and more raucous with each verse. They were not quite sure whether Harry noticed them or not.

The four drunks were eventually hunted out into the cold, and staggered off down the street, tailed by three highly amused aurors. One of the drunks was beginning to be belligerent, and suddenly wheeled on the aurors. The Russian was unintelligible to the aurors, but Harry obligingly translated. "He says, What're you doing following us?"

Harry was staggering, and a big Russian with a battered face, wrapped an arm around him in order to keep him on his feet. The belligerent one walked aggressively toward the aurors. Harry just stood, looking mischievous. What would they do now? The aurors looked at each other. Fred took charge, spreading his arms in a peaceable gesture, and saying placatingly, "We were just walking, no harm."

Harry translated faithfully. And then, "He says you're to walk the other way!"

Patrick said something, and Gareth and Fred retreated. Harry called to his belligerent friend to leave the man alone, as he was too small to be bothered with, and the big Russian obeyed, laughing suddenly, hilariously, and launching again into song.

Patrick tried a mental communication then, as he knew Harry would probably hear. For goodness sake, Harry, Come back with us. You don't know them! Harry heard and replied, turning back toward Patrick, and saying definitely, if in rather a slurred voice, "My name's not Harry! I'm Bellamy, now! You call me Bellamy!" Patrick raised his eyes to the sky, and gave it up for the time. The three aurors continued to follow, a lot more discreetly.

There was another bar, with a roaring fire. The Russians were still drinking, but quieter now. Harry was lured by the glow of the fire, only just saved from falling in by a reaching arm. He sat on the floor, looked into the fire for a time, then curled himself up in front of it, and went to sleep.

It was almost dawn before his Russian friends were sufficiently comatose for Patrick to rouse Harry, who still insisted on being called Bellamy, and persuade him to be a passenger while he apparated back to the hotel. It would have been a recipe for disaster to allow him to apparate himself while still drunk.

At breakfast, Harry observed to Gareth, "You look rather tired." Alex was also looking very tired. He was nearly fifty, and hadn't gone to bed until his charge had been returned. Harry himself looked perfectly well, even contented.

"Are you going to behave yourself today, Harry?" he asked.

"Bellamy," said Harry tauntingly. "I'm not being Harry any more, now I'm Henry Bellamy. You call me Bellamy!" And he totally refused to acknowledge any remark that addressed him as Harry.

Graham and Gus were handling the work again, and Harry, now Bellamy, asked Alex about the schedule, "Well, Bellamy," said Alex deliberately, and Bellamy grinned. "We finish the Russian cases about mid-afternoon, and then there's some from various other countries, which probably will need your personal attention."

"I might go for a bit of a stroll, then," said Bellamy. "I'll be back in an hour," and he disapparated in his characteristic silence. Alex swore. One of the Russian guards was close by, and pointed. Bellamy was disappearing around a corner, heading toward a nearby park, where temporary charms kept away Medjkind. It was being used as an apparation point.

The wizards waited with wands raised. Bellamy was anticipating. He was here. They could have a go. The wizards didn't feel it when he put an anti-disapparation charm on each of them. Bellamy felt like testing his own reactions against Death Curses, and besides, it was really high time that he died. They were in ambush, behind trees. That didn't suit Bellamy, and the wizards found their feet taking them into an open area. The aurors were approaching rapidly, and suddenly a red line was traced at a distance, around Bellamy and the two who wanted to kill him. Now no-one could interfere. The barrier was impervious to spells, and as it was his own, it might even stop a Death Curse. Just in case, a brick wall was suddenly at his back. Harry wanted no-one else getting hurt, and Death Curses were supposed to be unstoppable, undeflectable by normal means. A brick wall would stop one though.

The wizards were suddenly released, and a taunting voice said, "Well, come on then, don't you want to kill me?"

Alex, Ricky and Adam tested the barrier, found that they could not approach, and so could only watch. Harry was crouched slightly, ready, and when two green streaks of light came hurtling, he leapt to the side. More streaks of light came, and the wizards were coming closer, so that he had less time to dodge. The great wizard could bat a spell aside with his hand, even Death Curses, but this time, he dodged, ducked, and once even jumped over a spell. And he was laughing as if his dance with death was just a game.

Alex made the only argument he could think of that might stop this suicidal madness. "There's two days work to go, Bellamy. You can't leave a job unfinished!" Instantly Harry was surrounded by a semi-transparent, magical shield. He stopped moving, and waited. The spell hit the shield, and vanished, then another. His shield worked against Death Curses. He'd wondered if it would. The shield vanished, he put up a hand, and the wizards dropped their wands.

Harry walked toward them, casually. The wizards backed up until they were hard against the barrier that still surrounded them. He smiled at them. One drew himself up bravely, trying to muster the courage to die with dignity. The other wet himself. The great wizard deliberately drew his wand. The first put his chin up a little more.

Bellamy stooped, picked up the two wands, and asked the first, "Yours?" There was a nod. The wand was tossed back, and was caught. "Put it in your pocket," he was told, "You might need it where you're going."

The other wand was thrown to the other wizard. This time, it was fumbled, and the wizard had to bend and pick it up. The wizards still didn't know whether or not they were to be killed. Wizards are always buried with their wands in their hands. He probably meant that.

Alex called to him, "Harry, you have to hand them over for trial. Don't take the law into your own hands."

Bellamy ignored him. He wasn't Harry any more. He pointed his wand and a wizard vanished, then the other. The barrier vanished, the protective brick wall vanished, and he turned to go back to work.

"What did you do?" asked Alex, very, very worried. Had Harry broken the law?

Bellamy said casually, "I sent each of them to the top of a cold and steep Scottish mountain. They can no longer apparate, and they'll probably take days to get home." He grinned. "I wrote on their chests, too. It'll be no good them telling their wives they were on a business trip."

Alex laughed with a great deal of relief. "What did you write?"

"I wrote, I tried to kill the great wizard. You know, like a souvenir shirt, except that it's on their skin, and won't go away."

Alex pulled Bellamy to his side in a hug. "You're mad, you do know that!"

Bellamy frowned and said in a troubled voice, "Maybe I am a bit mad." And he was silent.

Alex and the others were relieved when the standard patients that Graham could do came to an end, and Bellamy again had something to keep him out of mischief, as least for a few hours.

When Alex gave Franz his report that Friday, Franz took him with him to talk to Catherine. Catherine was still a Ministry Healer, even if she was no longer up to travelling. She knew Harry very well, and was appalled when Alex described Harry's flirtation with death. She blinked in surprise at his abrupt change of name, too. Alex was less concerned, and he tried to reassure Franz. He thought that Bellamy had only been reacting to the death of Jebedee, and a change of name was really perfectly logical. Alex thought his kindness to Graham reassuring, too. No matter how apparently mad his behaviour, he ensured that others were not hurt by it. He did agree with Franz, though, that he was in some quite deep distress.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

Chapter 8:

Bellamy didn't change his mind about his new name, but there were no more deaths that hit him so hard for many months. There were a few in-laws, but he did as Chrissy suggested. He would only go to the funerals of immediate family, not even those of in-laws. And that helped, as no members of his immediate family seemed to be dying yet. There were weddings and new babies, and each wedding, and each new baby was like a bulwark against the grief of too many losses. And there was a triumph, as Bellamy accompanied his friend, Ian Maguire, to the Olympics, and they watched as Simon won bronze, and Connor won gold for Britain in the showjumping. Both of them were on horses that Harry had bred. The brown mare that Connor rode, had 'unknown' marked on her pedigree as her grandfather, but the extra strength and endurance apparently added by that mysterious stallion made her the best of all Harry's horses.

There were girlfriends of course, as Bellamy couldn't live for more than a very few days without sex, or so he thought. And he'd always been very good at luring women into bed with him. He was normally very discreet in his liaisons, never going with witches, and never going with inexperienced women who might be hurt by a temporary lover. He didn't contemplate marrying again. Even if Julie would not be hurt, and he was sure that she would be, he thought that it would only happen again, that no woman should marry a freak that didn't get old.

The supply of new babies seemed to dry up for a time in the winter of the year that he was a hundred and eleven. A very bad time was beginning for Bellamy. First it was his stepson, Adam Bourne, who died, and not even two weeks later, Adam's son, Trevor Bourne, although Trevor was only middle-aged. Then there was James, his son, and Gemme, his cousin's daughter, whom he always regarded as a niece. Gemme's husband was already dead. There was a brief lull in family deaths, but there was a long list of other deaths, friends whom he'd known, Nick Bagshott, Barbara Bancroft, who'd been a Minister for Magic, Sarah Creevey, though she was only seventy, both Therese Wilson and Jodie Bagshott, who'd been Ministry healers who'd looked after him, and whom he'd always thought, fussed too much. Then suddenly, still on the job, Catherine. He had to go to the funeral of Catherine. And Ben Weasley, who'd been his own healer until he became too old. He had to go to Ben's funeral too. And anyway, Ben was his nephew. There were aurors whom he'd known, and although he stayed away from their funerals, he always wrote a letter to the relatives.

He became increasingly morose. He scarcely seemed to talk these days, although he broke spells with the same casual efficiency as ever. He didn't get drunk, and he didn't do much that was very dangerous, but he started getting into more and more fistfights, and Graham became accustomed to treating his cuts and bruises.

There was another brief lull. Harry turned a hundred and twelve, going away for his birthday, as he mostly did these days. A month after his birthday, Chris Parker died, his daughter Vicky's, husband, and then, within weeks of each other, Margaret and Vicky. All the children of his first marriage were dead now, and somehow it made his first wife Ginny, who had died long ago, seem even further away.

Bellamy thought that maybe he could relax a little now. Of his other children, Beth looked like she would live a long life, and Adrian was only twenty-nine.

Three months went by. A great, great grandchild was presented for his inspection. The tiny girl looked like she would have red hair. A lot of Harry's descendants were redheads. Ginny had been a redhead.

Suddenly, a grandson was dead, Nicholas Abercrombie, who'd lived with him for a while after he'd been attacked by the Ministry. Nicholas wasn't even sixty. Bellamy wore a face of cool composure as he organised time off from his work to attend the funeral of his first grandson. Graham found that he'd become more thin, and the most important measure of health, the LV measure, showed another decline. Bellamy was never interested in discussing his own health, and Graham only noted the results, and wondered if it was a sign of imminent ageing. He looked no different, except a bit sad sometimes.

The following Monday, Bellamy walked the corridor of the Ministry Building to the room near the Transport Bay where the team always assembled. Manfred Cahill called out. Manfred was an arrogant, long nosed auror who'd been assigned for just one trip to Harry Potter years before. It had happened to be a particularly traumatic time, and Manfred had been his bitter enemy since the Friday evening when Harry broke his jaw at a party. Manfred still knew how to hurt, and his words cut deep, "Hey, Monster! How does it feel to watch your children die of old age?"

Bellamy wheeled. He mostly ignored the occasional taunts of Manfred, but now he put down his suitcase, and walked toward Manfred as if he was closing in on prey. Manfred was a brave man, and his stance altered as he prepared to fight. Abruptly, there were barriers closing off the corridor each side of them. Bellamy wanted no interference.

Manfred approved, but asserted, "It's not a fair fight, Freak."

"All right," said Bellamy, "I won't use my left hand." They were warily circling each other now.

"Your right hand," said Manfred, "Don't use your right hand."

"Done!"

Manfred, with the striking speed of a cobra, attacked. Bellamy swayed back, and the blows landed on thin air. Manfred was still balanced, instantly prepared to attack or defend. Bellamy's right hand was firmly in his pocket. His left hand was lightly clenched, but he was not attacking yet.

Manfred said, "I hear even your grandchildren have started dying off, Freak!"

Bellamy warned, "Be careful, you really don't want me to lose my temper!"

Manfred heeded the warning, and his insults toned down to those that Bellamy could ignore. "Freak, Monster, Little Man!"

Bellamy grinned, but it was a fierce grin. "I'm surprised you call me little. What are you? Maybe an inch taller?" And with a speed greater than that of his opponent, he inflicted several quick blows with his left fist, but taking some bruises in return. It was still only the opening manoeuvres. With Bellamy's handicapping, they were very evenly matched. The barriers were almost transparent, and they had an audience. They were close to soundproof, though, and it was unlikely that Manfred heard the threat of instant dismissal if he hurt Harry. Franz still found it hard to think of him as Bellamy.

A blow that hit just below his ribs had Manfred bending down, gasping for breath. Bellamy's right hand twitched in his pocket, itching to hit the now vulnerable jaw, but he had to use his left hand instead, and was an instant too slow, leaving himself open to a blow on the face that shattered his glasses. He swiftly stepped back, out of reach, and the glasses vanished.

For another twenty minutes, the two men battled, urged on by barracking aurors, until Franz turned on them with fury, and sent them about their business. The fighters were both bleeding from cuts about their faces, and one of Bellamy's eyes was half-closed. Everything was blurred without his glasses in any case, but his fighting instincts ensured a sharpening of the senses that almost overcame the disadvantage.

A blow to the head connected, and Bellamy was knocked sprawling, but rolled and was up again before Manfred could take advantage. Again they were circling, each alert, each very fast, ready and wanting to hit. "I'm sorry I called you Dementor Food that time," said Manfred.

Bellamy straightened, "What?"

Manfred knocked him out with a clean blow to the jaw.

Manfred staggered to the wall, his head spinning, and now he was no longer fighting, he, too, sagged to the floor. But he smiled with satisfaction. His broken jaw may have been almost straightaway healed that time, but it was only now that it was forgiven.

Franz banged at the barrier in frustration. Only Harry could undo his own spells. He wondered if he might have put a time limit on it, as he did sometimes. Graham, beside him, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "We'll have to go around, through the walls." Franz nodded, and went through an office door, along a little, and used his wand to make a doorway back into the corridor. He should have thought of it before, but he'd become just as immersed in the fight as his aurors.

Bellamy stirred and sat up. He regarded the blurry figure opposite him. "You beat me!" he said in a tone of surprise.

Manfred grunted, "Good fight." He felt a bit dizzy.

Bellamy reached up and felt the blood from a split lip. He grinned, a bit lopsided. "I hope Graham can fix me up a bit, the Germans disapprove terribly of duelling with fists!" He stood and extended a hand to Manfred, who took it and rose to his feet, although leaning against the wall.

Franz watched from the doorway he'd made. Maybe the ill feeling between the two was over. Manfred would not be fired. He was one of the best aurors he had. But he was the boss, and now said, "You should be ashamed of yourselves, the pair of you! Brawling in the corridors!"

Bellamy turned a grin to him. "Sorry, Franz."

Manfred, too, apologised. Franz snapped at Manfred to get himself tidied up. Manfred walked to the barrier, then turned to Bellamy. Bellamy reached for his wand, but removed his hand, empty.

"Bellamy?" said Franz.

"I need to borrow a wand," explained Bellamy. "I seem to have forgotten mine."

Franz shook his head in disbelief, and handed over his wand, which Bellamy used to vanish the barriers. He had a theory that if he always appeared to use a wand, people might forget that he didn't really need one. Manfred cast a glance back at him. He winked. He thought he hadn't enjoyed anything as much in years.

Friday, Bellamy came back from Germany, to learn that his grand-daughter, Ginny Davenport, had died suddenly of a heart attack. He remembered so clearly the day when the tiny baby, with wisps of reddish hair, had been placed on his knee for the first time. He didn't go to the funeral. He fled. Monday, Naomi had to send a message to the Ministry, and confess that they didn't know where he was.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 9:

Bellamy didn't contact his home for nearly three years. After several months, a rumour spread that he was in Morocco, and living in a palace with three concubines. It might have been true, or partly true, as some very exotic looking boxes were found one day, suddenly there in the store-room. Word quickly spread among his staff. He was alive then. Simon and Naomi could say that he wasn't drawing on funds, and was presumably supporting himself some other way. Investigations by the Ministry, however, failed to discover his whereabouts.

Two and a half years after his flight, Chrissy browsed in an ordinary bookstore, looking at the children's books. She wanted a birthday gift for Rodney Pickering, next door, who would soon be nine. There was one had a picture of a horse on it, a little skewbald mare, with a foal at foot. She remembered a horse that looked just like that, and she picked up the book. With a leap of excitement, she saw the author's name, Henry Bellamy. And surely the mare was Mischief, long dead now, of course. She quizzed the owner of the bookshop, a true enthusiast, who could tell her that the book was originally published in Canada, was being translated for Germany, Italy and France, and was already in its fourth reprint in English.

"A Classic," he said. "It seems so simple, almost repetitive. Children love it, and not just children." And he repeated, "A Classic."

The bookshop had eight copies. Chrissy bought eight copies.

Supposedly about the wild horses of Canada, it was indeed repetitive. The birth of a foal, a simple life, maturity and reproduction, and then decline and death. Again and again, with minor variations, the stories overlapping. Its simplicity was deceptive. The book had a very deep appeal. It conveyed truth. There were some very beautiful illustrations, too, featuring Bellamy's own horses, the foals, the wild young colts as they played, the beauty of a mare and her foal, and the old ones too, looking out at the reader with a deep wisdom in their eyes. They thought he must have used his magic to put his memories on paper. They could not be photos, and they were not paintings.

Bellamy had written it for himself. It was to do with life and death. It had helped him come to a greater acceptance of his own longevity, and the fact that he would see people he loved, grow old and die.

Three months after Chrissy's discovery of the book, Bellamy appeared in the Apparation Zone of his own home, was greeted by a few cross-bred dogs, who threw themselves at him, and then strolled to the Old Horses' Paddock, to talk to more friends. They were all pets. He knew them all, and they knew him. Clare had her easel set up close by, and only waved vaguely, not wanting to be interrupted. The boss was back. Her husband would be pleased.

Bellamy was surprised. Where was everyone? The apparation zone was supposed to be watched, although now he came to think of it, except for the Wileys, there were no security guards left. Astron had left years ago. But the spells and enchantments that protected the secrecy of Bellamy's home were still effective, in spite of the large numbers who now knew how to find it. And with the absence of the boss, vigilance appeared unnecessary. Except for Clare, everyone, even Caradoc who didn't like crowds, were at the big Easter horse show, cheering for Simon and Connor. The Pickerings were showing off some young horses, too.

Bellamy could feel for the presence of those he knew. It seemed that except for Clare, the place was deserted. Even the last of the house-elves were no longer in the basement where they had lived for generations. So he made friends with a couple of ponies who were new, and talked to some young, unbroken horses. A skewbald mare jumped a fence and greeted him, and from then on, followed at his heels as he strolled his estate.

Bellamy felt himself a bit hard done by when he had to rummage through the kitchen and make lunch for himself. He wasn't accustomed to such hardship.

Afterward, he left the butter out, crumbs all over the table, a spill on the floor, and checked out Chrissy's office. Chrissy did most of his correspondence. There was no mail obligingly left out for him, though. Again he wandered off, and found what he'd been looking for, a general invitation pinned on the notice board in the staff dining room. The annual Ministry Ball had been held Easter Saturday for hundreds of years. Bellamy thought it was as good a way as any to announce his return. He'd just wanted to check that they'd made no changes to the venue or the time.

By the time a dozen people returned, tired but triumphant from the horse show, he was sound asleep in a chair in his loungeroom. He'd been in a very different time zone that morning before he suddenly knew it was time to return.

Tracy and Klaus had a brief but fiery quarrel in the kitchen, each blaming the other for the mess, before their daughter, Lillian, interrupted them. "The boss is back! Clare told me."

Klaus looked again at the mess, grunted, and looked in the direction of the private quarters of the house. Tracy was smiling all over her face. If the boss made the mess, it was OK. The boss could get away with pretty well anything, as far as Tracy was concerned. And she hustled her husband. There must be an extra good dinner made for him, although only a scratch meal had been planned for themselves and the few others they catered for.

Half an hour later, dinner was laid for Bellamy in the private dining room, as he came out rubbing his eyes. Tracy and Lillian were both fussing around. Lillian had even brought in flowers from the garden. And when they saw him there, blinking at them, still wearing shabby jeans and faded shirt, he found himself with a double armful of staff. All his workers were fond of the boss, even grumbling Klaus.

After dinner, he greeted the rest of his staff, especially feeble-minded Will, tearful at his return. Simon wanted to tell him about a particularly promising young mare. Simon's son Archie, was home for the Easter break, and greeted the boss a little shyly. Chris and Chrissy were treating him as a long lost son. Even Caradoc put in an appearance, although Clare hadn't got around to mentioning the return to him until they were preparing for bed.

Lillian eventually rose, saying she had to get ready, she was going to the ball. Bellamy was reminded, and rose also, although they were surprised that he was intending to go. Mostly he had to be dragged to such occasions. But he only said that he might not get into so much trouble over his abrupt departure if he made his reappearance at a social occasion. And he reddened slightly. "I was supposed to be going to Switzerland, and I went to Tangier instead."

He slipped on the first set of dress robes that presented themselves to his hand. Chosen by Julie, they were midnight blue, expensive velvet, embroidered with black, navy, and bright green thread. "It's the colour of your eyes," she'd said fondly, as she stroked the green thread. Julie would probably be there, he knew. She said that it was a social obligation to appear at the Ministry Ball.

There were a couple of aurors on duty at the Ball, a precaution to prevent trouble. Sometimes, young wizards became a little over-impressed with their own power, and had to be reminded that Wizardkind was supposed to be civilised. There were always a lot of off duty aurors there too, of course. Ricky was one of those on duty, and gaped as Bellamy was suddenly there, and called for backup. Bellamy casually joined him. Already people were turning and pointing, although none approached him yet.

"Franz still the boss?" he asked Ricky, after greeting him.

Three more aurors, two in uniform, had already joined them, and it was Manfred answered the question. "No, I am."

Bellamy turned to him. "Whoops! I'll have to behave myself now!"

Manfred smiled, a hint of triumph in the smile, "No more brawling in the corridors, that's for sure!"

Bellamy was instantly tempted to challenge him. Manfred recognised the gleam in his eye, and said quickly, "Oh, no. I'm too old for that now."

"Shame," replied Bellamy, "It was the best fight I'd had in years." And he quizzed them about other changes at the Ministry.

"Kate's Minister, now," Ricky told him, pointing to where she stood.

"I thought she'd manage it," said Bellamy, and headed toward her.

Kate gave him a warm hug, and rebuked him for leaving without warning. "The Swiss were very upset!" Bellamy apologised, and Kate said sternly that he'd have to go there first trip, and attend a formal gathering to make up.

"Do I have to?" asked Bellamy.

"Yes," said Kate, who may have been forty, but was as beautiful as ever.

Bellamy agreed, "But only because I let them down, absolutely no-one else."

Kate smiled. She thought he'd do exactly what she told him, the same as any other man and nearly any woman.

Julie and Mervyn knew by now that he was present, and Julie was prepared when he went to greet them. Bellamy only knew Mervyn slightly, but was very cordial. Julie looked so much more contented. She was quite a lot more plump, her hair was grey, and the anxious lines on her face had been replaced by happier ones. Julie now gave Mervyn a subtle hint, and he moved off, leaving Bellamy with Julie.

Julie scolded him. "You just don't know how to dress, do you, Harry?" And she patted the collars of his robes into a more graceful arrangement, and even briefly stroked his hair. His expression suddenly changed to a look of desire, but she smacked his raised hand and told him, "Don't!" He looked down, and apologised. But Julie was pleased. It was not that she wanted to do anything about it, but it was so nice to be still wanted by this young and attractive man. Her girlfriends were watching, and Julie preened herself as she returned to Merv.

Bellamy was looking cool, expressionless. Close by, with a group of young friends, there was a beautiful girl. Her hair was bright blonde, her complexion flawless, and her figure the envy of her girlfriends. She'd recently won a beauty queen pageant, although wizardry usually scorned such nonsense. Celia thought she could have any man she chose, and now she turned to her best friend, and said confidently, "Just watch!"

Bellamy raised a glass to his lips, as he looked around. He should see Vernon if he was there, and mention to him that he was again available for the spell-breaking. Approaching very close, and in a husky voice that was intended to be sexy, the girl said, "Hello, my name's Celia." Her eyes conveyed a warm invitation.

Bellamy nodded at Miss Great Britain with the most profound indifference, and strolled over to Vernon whom he'd just spotted. Celia froze, spots of fury in her cheeks. Julie smiled in delight. Celia's girlfriends were almost equally delighted, but thought they'd best not show it. Another there was highly pleased. She must be one of the very few witches, aside from his wives, who had shared his bed. She still boasted sometimes, although it was a long time ago.

Another attractive girl approached as Bellamy and Vernon talked together, a tray of sandwiches in hand. They accepted with thanks. Bellamy started to take a bite, then stopped. His enemies had been quick off the mark, and he swiftly took the sandwich from Vernon. "Spit it out!" he said urgently, as Vernon chewed. Vernon looked at him in puzzlement, but neatly deposited the mouthful in a serviette.

Bellamy relaxed. It was only another attempted poisoning, and he raised an eyebrow at Manfred, who listened to what he had to say. Bellamy took it for granted that people would try and kill him. Vernon seemed fine, not actually convinced that they'd been anything to worry about. Bellamy had a reputation for being paranoid. Bellamy only assured him that his own sandwich had been poisoned, whether or not Vernon's was. He didn't know how he knew, but he nearly always had.

For the next hour, he circulated, talking to family, talking to friends, talking to the aurors, who were also, most of them, friends. Lillian, he saw, was standing very close to a redhead whom he didn't recognise. Maybe it was a Weasley.

Preparations were being made. There was always a bit of ceremonial and speeches at this event. Bellamy loathed speeches, and took it as a signal that it was time to leave. He'd done what he came to do, and didn't seem to be in too much trouble about his absence.

**HP***

Sunday morning, Simon asked him if he'd like to join him for a long ride on the moors. Bellamy smiled with pleasure at the prospect, and Simon went to beg a picnic lunch. It was a dampish looking morning, but weak sunshine was winning. They rode a long way, Bellamy on his skewbald, Simon on a restive young colt.

They finally halted at a high cliff-top that overlooked a rough sea far below. It was only as they finished the generous picnic that Klaus had prepared, that Simon started talking about his brother, Beau. Beau had left years before, when Bellamy had refused to allow his fiancée onto the property because he deemed her untrustworthy. Beau had been furious at the insult to the woman he loved, and Bellamy hadn't seen him since.

The marriage only lasted three years. There were no children. Beau began to drink more and more heavily, and finally crashed his car, luckily not hurting anyone else. His legs and pelvis were badly broken, and since he was out of touch at the time, he was treated in an ordinary hospital. He was walking again now, Simon thought, but he hadn't heard from him in years, and didn't know where he was. "I think he's drinking again," he finished sadly.

Simon rose suddenly, going to the edge of the cliff, and looking over. Simon and Beau were little more than a year apart in age, and had been close.

Bellamy packed away the picnic, vanishing the rubbish. Then he conjured a couple of buckets, and a complex little spell filled them with water. He'd only learned to do that in the last couple of years. It was valuable magic in the desert countries. The horses drank, and then Simon's horse snorted at him, so that he had to wipe his face, rebuking the horse. The horse, he thought, was laughing at him.

Bellamy went back to his place, sitting, and waited for Simon.

Simon returned, but stayed standing. "Mum said she was a heroin addict when you found her and brought her back."

Bellamy said calmly, "I'm surprised she told you." Chrissy had been a London prostitute when he met her.

"Do you think..." Simon stopped, and then got it out in a rush. "Can you find Beau and bring him back?"

Bellamy was matter-of-fact. "I can find him and bring him back if he wants to come back. I can even cure the physical addiction to alcohol, but I won't interfere in his mind. If he chooses to be an alcoholic, I can't stop him."

"You cured Mum," said Simon.

"Your mother is a very strong willed lady. I may have given her the start, but she cured herself."

When they arrived home, it was mid afternoon. Simon pointed out the cottage he wanted Beau to have, if he could be brought home. Harry went inside. It was a little dusty, but otherwise ready for occupation. So he said, "Clean it up, make the bed, and I'll see if he wants to come."

Simon smiled, but he was nervous, too. Having an uncontrollable drunk on the place would be a real security risk. Bellamy might be doing himself a considerable disservice by bringing Beau home.

Beau had a dingy flat in Glasgow. It was on the ground floor, which made it easier for him with his walking sticks. Bellamy had no trouble finding him. Beau had grown up on his property, and he knew the feel of his mind.

Beau stared at the man on his doorstep. It was like a ghost from his childhood. Dazed, he stepped back from the doorway in a mute invitation for Bellamy to come in. They talked a long while. There was no new girlfriend, and while Beau was working, it was at a soul destroying job. He was a cold canvasser, ringing people at inconvenient times, and often being the recipient of the abuse that really belonged to his employer. He no longer drank, and even admitted that his marriage was a mistake. He asked about Julie, and discerned the sadness that Bellamy thought he concealed, as he was told that Julie had left him.

"I need extra help," finally said Bellamy. "I wanted someone trustworthy, as the reward for my death is now astronomical. I couldn't hire just anyone or I might find myself with my throat cut," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. But the simple words he ended with, were what sealed the deal. "Will you come home?"

Beau swallowed. He very much wanted to come home. He nodded, wordlessly.

Bellamy looked around. "How much time do you want to organise yourself? I can send your things back with magic, and then I can apparate with you."

Beau croaked, and then tried again. "Tomorrow. I can organise everything, and come home tomorrow."

Bellamy smiled. "It'll be a relief. I like to have people I know and trust around me."

Beau had already come a long way on the road to recovery after his wife had nearly destroyed him. But his pride had taken a terrible beating since the happier days of his youth. Being wanted and needed was very precious to him.

"Do you mind if I sleep here overnight?" Bellamy now asked. He didn't want Beau having second thoughts, maybe starting to worry because he was no longer the athletic young man that he'd been once.

"Of course," said Beau. His voice was coming easier now.

Bellamy rose. "I'll come back in about two hours then, and we'll find someplace to eat."

Beau looked after him as he left. The Boss had come for him. He started to cry.

Bellamy walked the streets of Glasgow for a while. It was a grey day, and Beau didn't live in a nice area. He wondered if he should have looked for Beau a long time before. But he suspected that he would not have wanted to come back before. When it was time, he turned back. Beau was cheerful good company at dinner at a nearby pub.

At home, Simon was very pleased indeed, if apprehensive, when he checked again the little house assigned to Beau. In the second bedroom, boxes and books were appearing. Beau was coming home. When Bellamy and Beau appeared in the apparation zone, Beau's parents, Chris and Chrissy, his brother Simon, and an unknown nephew waited.

Fifteen year old Archie stared at the emotion displayed by his grandparents, and decided that he wanted to explore a hayshed where a feral cat had taken up residence. He suspected there were kittens. Archie disapproved. Men were not supposed to cry. Even the boss looked to be crying.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 10:

Over the next week, Bellamy had a succession of visitors. There had apparently been a rash of babies amongst his descendants, and each of them had to be displayed to Grandfather Harry. One day, there was a pair of twins, nearly three. Identical twins seemed to run through Ginny's side of the family. His staff watched and laughed with him as he ran around with the girls, who bumped up and down on two ponies.

His family still called him Harry. Bellamy only occasionally remembered to remind them of his change of name. His employees, even young Archie, mostly called him Boss. Simon was still rather astounded that his son was a wizard, although Naomi, who was a witch, told him that medj/wizard pairs nearly always had children who were witches or wizards.

The daughter of Adrian and Thea was an exception, and Bellamy was relieved that this grandchild was not a witch. Candice had glossy black hair, slanting green eyes, and at fifteen, a glow of absolute beauty. She looked something like Kate, except that Kate had brown skin. She looked very much like a long dead daughter of Bellamy's, called Julia. Candice was highly intelligent, but had a streak of real cruelty, and a desire for power over others. Adrian no longer took her to the home of Bellamy, and kept her away from the world of wizardry as much as possible. Adrian knew his daughter, and didn't trust her. He didn't want her knowing of that reward for the death of her grandfather.

Bellamy blamed himself for the less attractive qualities displayed by Candice. He sometimes thought he carried a 'bad seed' that occasionally manifested itself like this. There had been Julia, there had been Harry White, who'd been very powerful and incredibly evil. And now there was Candice, fortunately without magic. Adrian, on the other hand, thought it came through himself, from his birth mother. Nerrissa Malfoy had been depraved. While his father had never said much about her, there had been information from other sources.

There was now someone else spell-breaking in London - Clarence Holmes was making a great deal of money working the telepathic cure. Bellamy understood when he was told that he always had a couple of bodyguards when he worked, and that he insisted that his patient hand over his wand. That was only prudence, and he did that himself. It was not widely known that Holmes' patients also had their wrists manacled to metal rings fixed to the walls. Holmes had no intention of allowing himself to be hurt. He still had desperate people willing to submit to those indignities, and willing also to pay the very high fee demanded.

Holmes was rapidly becoming a rich man, and was one of those unhappy with Bellamy's return. The moment it was known that the great wizard was back, the supply of patients waiting for Holmes dried up.

Bellamy was very much wanted; a week in Switzerland first, and every week thereafter in different countries, as long as he was willing to do it. Every few weeks, he would be given a break, just doing Thursday and Friday in London, in the same area in the Ministry that had been organised for him after the death of Cissy.

The second Monday after his return, Bellamy joined the assembled team for the trip to Switzerland. Patrick was scathing. "Condescended to join us this time?"

Bellamy shrugged, and reddened. "Sorry about that."

But Patrick was only joking, and he was quickly surrounded by his friends. Manfred had given him almost the same team he'd had previously, except that Alex was no longer fit enough for normal auror's duties, and had been transferred to a different department. Patrick was in charge, and there was an additional youngster, called Nathan Bagster. Nathan was very large, shiny black, and had a deep voice. Bellamy shook his hand, and asked if he was related to the Shacklebolts by any chance. He was so like Jebedee had been, and Kingsley before him. Nathan nodded, second cousins or some such thing he thought. Bellamy smiled warmly at him, and said that it was good to know him.

Kate watched him, smiling, before telling him that she and her husband would be joining them Friday night, and they would also be joined by dignitaries from several other countries, as well. It was to be a big occasion. "And you have to behave yourself, mind," she added.

"I often behave myself," said Bellamy, indignantly. "And Kate. Don't forget, I've only agreed to that one formal do. Any others you arrange, I just won't come."

Kate smiled. She thought she could get around her grandfather.

Graham nabbed Bellamy in the aeroplane. "Niscos and weight," he said. "Same as usual."

Bellamy sighed. Why did they always put him through this? He'd tried to refuse Ministry Healers a couple of times, but then he'd been badly hurt by a patient in Turkey once. It could be useful to have a healer around. The aurors were hurt too, sometimes, but there were no weekly checks for them. Graham only touched a couple of sensors to the back of his hand, and noted down the figures, making no comment, although he was pleased. The time away had apparently been good for Bellamy. The check took about thirty seconds. Bellamy still thought of it as an imposition.

The week went smoothly, although Patrick, now that he was in charge and trying to be responsible, was irritated that Bellamy was out Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, only returning in the morning. Bellamy had found an obliging Swiss woman. Thursday, there were three difficult patients in a row, and afterward, Bellamy knew that he was too tired to apparate. Instead, he made a phone call, and the aurors were asked to keep out of the way, he was having company that night.

So they tried to be discreet as their charge ate at a separate table, and discussed a concert the woman wanted to go to on Saturday night. Bellamy agreed. It was easy enough simply to stay on an extra night. It never occurred to him that he would be facing Patrick with a dilemma. He was supposed to be guarded at all times. They were supposed to be returning Saturday morning. Instead, he simply went to Reception, paid an extra night, and mentioned without a blush, that there would be two in the room that night, just in case the charge was higher for two.

Ricky and Adam guarded his room, although making sure that the girlfriend didn't notice. A silencing shield protected their privacy. Bellamy knew perfectly well that the aurors had their eavesdropping devices as standard equipment. Aurors had never thought that he was entitled to privacy. They had always watched him, always reported on his activities. It was their job, and he no longer took much notice of it.

Work on Friday was very easy, but Bellamy sighed as he pulled out his dress robes, and shook out the creases. He'd promised to behave himself, and so presented himself in the large function room, where a crowd had already gathered. Kate immediately fussed over his robes, as Julie had always done, and even put a hand to his hair, wanting to comb it. Bellamy waited patiently. He'd promised to behave. And he did behave as he met the Ministers of Magic of Italy, France, Austria and Germany. Several others, too. It seemed that they were making the most of the opportunity to meet and talk to the great wizard who was known to avoid these occasions like the plague.

Nathan was on guard behind him. There had been some careful tuition, and he knew to keep thoughts of the sharp knife he carried, pushed down below the surface of his mind. The opportunity would undoubtedly come. It was rather funny that Bellamy was apparently instantly prepared to trust, merely because he looked like a couple of old friends. But he pushed that thought below the surface of his mind, too, and concentrated on other things, unrelated to his desire to become very rich. All the aurors were on duty. Patrick was very tense. There were too many strangers here.

"Harry!"

Harry turned and greeted his son, Helmer Roos. Helmer was looking very dressed up, and not nearly as old as his age.

Helmer had some news. Unable to hold it back, a smirk appeared as he told his father that he was now Swedish Minister for Magic. After appropriate congratulations, Bellamy asked about his family. He was saddened to hear that Helmer's mother had died a year before. Britta, too, her close friend, and onetime lover of Bellamy's. His boys were grown up, and one was an auror, as Helmer had been.

They had to sit down then, and a tedious formal dinner began, course after course. Once they were trapped, the speeches began. Bellamy looked sadly toward the window. Kate eyed him repressively. He shifted restlessly in his seat, as others watched with amusement. The great wizard was a legend, and among the stories told were those of his hatred of speeches.

To amuse himself rather than because he wanted it, he started buttering the roll that waited on a plate next to him. But he only buttered it, and then vanished it, slowly, bit by bit, using his magic to make different shapes before suddenly sighing again, and it was gone. He hadn't even noticed that it had been poisoned.

Nathan thought he might be doing him a favour if he slipped the knife in now. Bellamy twisted in his seat, and stared at him. Nathan thought very hard about a Quidditch game he'd seen once. There were too many witnesses to do it now, and it looked very much as if the great wizard was suspicious.

Bellamy was very tense. He wanted to pry, wanted to look at the mind of Nathan, but he'd made a rule for himself that he would not look at the minds of others without a very good reason. He wished that Nathan wasn't behind him. He didn't like having Nathan behind him. But what had he heard? Just a thought that he might like to be put out of his misery. He almost agreed.

Nathan didn't have a chance to get behind him again. Not that evening, as he always seemed to be standing with his back to the wall, not at breakfast, when he casually rose and moved when he came close, and then quizzed him about his background and ambitions, not Saturday night, when he spent the night at the girlfriend's place, and not the week after, in Austria. Nathan had been rostered to be in the room with Bellamy as he worked, but the strong magic was apparently needed for the third patient of the day on Monday morning, and Nathan fainted. He was told not to worry, that it seemed that some people just couldn't tolerate the feeling. Gareth took his place, as Ricky too, found it very difficult to tolerate.

That Friday, Nathan asked for a transfer. He'd decided that it was just too dangerous to try and kill the great wizard, now that he was apparently suspicious. He wondered if it was really because of the strong magic that he'd fainted.

The next week, Bulgaria, and Bellamy was relieved that Nathan had been replaced by Rosemary. Rosemary waited hopefully, but he made no moves to try and seduce her, and was merely impersonally friendly.

At home, Beau was surrounded by family, and was already helping with the rush of correspondence that had arrived with the news of Bellamy's return. It was difficult for him to walk outside, and an old wheelchair had been unearthed. It was magical, but the movement was guided by buttons, and didn't need the magic of a wizard. And Beau, although he couldn't ride them, was looking very closely at the horses. There should be more careful records kept of their breeding, he felt. The mares should not be just sent to a stallion at the whim of the boss.

His legs were still bad, although the healer had used a strengthening spell which helped a bit. And she said that as long as he continued to exercise them, they would improve. Feeling more hopeful than he had for years, Beau now spent an hour in the gym every day, and did a lot of swimming as well. There was some rearrangement of the workload among the Barnes family, and he was satisfied that he was not accepting charity.

Bellamy was happy to have him there. He'd been made uneasy by the suspected treachery of the auror, Nathan, and liked and trusted all his staff, including Beau. It was rather nice to have company in the gym, too.

Bellamy seemed to have regained his spirits after his long absence. The Quidditch matches resumed, and were cheered with as much gusto as ever. The teams were changed around a little, as some players had become old, but there were always youngsters clamouring for a place on a team. The Employees were no longer champion, as Caradoc no longer played, and most of Bellamy's employees were Medjkind, not Wizardkind. Lillian was the only one on that team that was an employee, so was nominated Captain, and the rest were assorted descendants of Bellamy.

There seemed to be scores of children running around on these occasions, often swarming around Bellamy, who could conjure dragons in the air for their amusement.

Bellamy was firm friends with most of the aurors, and enjoyed it especially when very young ones were allocated to him. He liked vigorous and sometimes dangerous activities, but there was always at least one of the aurors happy to join him. As long as they kept an eye on him in that fashion, he didn't feel the need to disapparate and leave them behind. When he did leave them behind, usually because he wanted to be with a woman, he considerately told them when he'd be back. Patrick thought he was having it relatively easy.

Kate soon discovered that he hadn't been bluffing when he stated that he wouldn't turn up to functions that he disliked, no matter how she wailed that she'd promised that he'd be there. And he totally ignored the tears that ran slowly down the cheeks of that beautiful face. He'd known her since she was a baby. She wasn't getting around him with false tears. Her assistant, close by, looked at him accusingly. Deirdre was an excellent organiser, highly intelligent, should herself have been Minister for Magic, yet idolised Kate, and was only happy to bask in the sunshine of her approval. She thought Bellamy should do as Kate wanted. Everyone else did as Kate wanted.

In Paris one week, he was wandering the streets, Rosemary beside him, a couple of others behind him, when he paused at an expensive clothing shop. He wanted to send Julie something for her birthday. He knew that everyone always said that he had terrible taste, so asked Rosemary to advise him. But Rosemary condemned Julie for deserting him, and the carefully wrapped gift from her ex-husband had Julie in hysterics. How could he think she'd ever wear that?


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

_Notes for the convenience of the reader__: __Harry's children__: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie._

Chapter 11:

Bellamy spent over a year spell-breaking, with few breaks. Their trips covered a large part of the world, not just Europe. But then he thought that it was time to do again what he liked best. Hogwarts was thrilled to have him back, again doing his three days a week, and again doing Thursdays and Fridays in London. He thought he'd alternate, a year for wizardry, a year for himself.

He did other things, too. He'd always been firmly discouraged from interfering in the activities of the aurors. But they all knew that he could hear a mental cry for help, as long as he knew the person well enough. They also knew that he could apparate to the side of that person, without needing any other clue to his whereabouts. And when an auror was in dire trouble, he wasn't going to worry about the prospect of a rebuke from his boss.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and he was teaching a remedial class at Hogwarts. There was a mental cry for help from Gareth, who was no longer armed and was surrounded. Bellamy appeared, the wizards were instantly stunned, and Bellamy leaned against the wall, as he watched Gareth retrieve his wand, call for help, and go about the job of arresting five wizards who'd apparently been having a nice time 'muggle-baiting' as they called it. He assumed the two victims would have their memories modified, something he found offensive. So as soon as more aurors appeared, he said casually, "That's all, then?" and vanished.

Three years later, and it was two young aurors, Nick and Don, who called for help. They were not long qualified, and had taken on two very clever and experienced witches. This time, it was late evening, and Bellamy turned up wearing only a towel twisted around his waist. The witches were disarmed, the aurors released from their bonds, then Bellamy paused, felt, and the anti-disapparation spell was removed from the room.

He had an air of impatience, and the aurors were uncomfortable as they thanked him. But Bellamy said, "Take no notice, it's only just..." And he paused, before grinning and saying, "It was the most incredible bad timing! She'll probably never forgive me!" Even one of the witches, in spite of being under arrest, laughed. She was a Malfoy, she had influence. She doubted if she'd be under arrest long.

He was asked about it a couple of days later.

"Well, I gave her chocolates, and then some flowers, and then some jewellery, and even now I'm not sure I'm forgiven." He grinned. "There's something so very unromantic about being seized with an urgent tummy ache right at that moment!"

Bellamy's womanising was legendary. The aurors doubted if they'd done any real harm to his love life. And they'd been about to have something very nasty done to them. The rescue had been just in time. But yet another story was told about the great wizard.

His life was full. He taught, played, travelled, visited, socialised, and played.

He involved himself in research, too, and wrote another book that the intellectuals of his world would consider essential reading. He was surprised though, when in Rome, he was approached by an Italian auror who was helping watch over him. Bellamy was fluent in Italian, as was known, and the wizard didn't need the translator as he told Bellamy how much his book had meant to him.

Bellamy was surprised. "Well, I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Not many people are interested in Grasstici Luculi."

"Grasstici... No, no, no. Your book about horses, but not really about horses. My wife brought it home."

Bellamy reddened. The thought of that book embarrassed him. It had not become common knowledge among British wizardry, although it had been reprinted several times, was widely available in ordinary bookshops, and had now been translated into a dozen languages. But he put on an imperturbable face, and spoke smoothly, accepting the congratulations, and hoped that his slight blush would pass unnoticed. Surely at his age, he should have outgrown the tendency to blush!

There were few deaths in those years that touched him deeply. His staff always knew when one occurred though, even if they were not told. Instead of eating with them, he'd eat alone, and instead of encouraging his horse to buck and play, he would only want to gallop, as far away as the horse would take him before becoming too tired. There were a few deaths that were not from old age, but rather from illness or accident. He was able to accept those easier. It was those ones whom he'd known from babyhood, who became old, and then died, that were the hardest for him to bear.

The spring weather was unusually warm and sunny in Bellamy's hundred and twenty-fifth year. The gardens were beautiful, the grass lush and green, and three new foals romped and played. Bellamy was teaching, fully involved in preparing the fifth and seventh year students for important examinations.

Three grandchildren died within weeks - three of Margaret's children, Mary and Wilhelmina who had both married Davenports, and Timothy. Bellamy was cool and collected at the funerals, and only the dogs and horses knew how often he was out walking at night. And then there was a long series of friends who died, Brad, Sanaz, Malcolm, Anthony. Anthony had been very close. He had to go to the funeral of Anthony. He remembered so well the occasion that they'd met. He'd been away a long time, and Anthony was freshly qualified as an auror. Anthony had mistaken him for a muggle, and tried to modify his memory. Yet a couple of weeks later, they were constant companions.

There were other deaths, it seemed a new one every week. Bellamy became quieter and more vague. He was supposedly teaching, but there were times when he had to be reminded what subject it was supposed to be. He was relieved when the school year came to an end. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate.

He didn't need to concentrate when travelling and breaking spells. He was looked after, almost every minute of the day. And he could break spells in his sleep. He didn't need to think, and somehow it was becoming very difficult to think.

Beth arrived. Her husband had died the previous year, but Beth had a great strength within her. Jeremiah had been the same as Beth, a true natural Telepath. Now he was gone, and Beth was so terribly alone. And Bellamy wondered that she was strong. Why was he not so strong?

On Beth's urging, he asked for a month off. Beth was going to stay for a while. Beth looked around her with misgiving. She knew her father's trouble, but Chris and Chrissy, Jason and Melissa, Will, Tracy and Klaus - half his employees were old. Her father became so attached to people. And she thought again, he felt too much, loved too much, felt too much pain.

Every day, Beth and Bellamy rode together, and they talked. Beth had an immense understanding and compassion. Bellamy's pain became a little easier to bear. But it was only when he tried out a new horse, a black colt with a broad blaze down his face, that Beth felt that she'd made a real difference. The colt was encouraged to buck, and Bellamy clung to his back and laughed. He'd always liked to play with his horses like this. Beth watched, smiling. He had a lot of spirit. But he confessed something that worried her. He told her that he was not allowed to make himself die until after Julie was dead. That Julie might feel herself responsible if he died by his own action. He spoke as if it was just yesterday that Julie had left him, rather than many years.

Beth left, and Bellamy resumed spell-breaking. He was better for a few months. He was no longer having nightmares, as he'd nearly always had nightmares. But he never slept well, either. It was always a restless, unhappy sleep. Ginny and Luna came to him in his sleep. He argued with them. He didn't want to live forever. When Julie died, then so would he. Night after night they would appear to him. And one night Hermione was there, too. Hermione was severe with him. He was being very silly. He should just make the most of life, as he always had. One couldn't always have exactly what one wanted. One just had to make the most of what one was given.

Bellamy didn't even think he really believed in an after-life. He knew there were ghosts, but he also felt that dead was dead. And yet, whenever he'd been severely ill, he'd seen them. He'd even seen his parents once, when he was a lot younger. He'd been dying then, and there was just a line to step over, and his parents were waiting, and a great black dog that was his godfather. His life had been saved, although it was years before he recovered his health that time.

When he travelled these days, it was Gareth in charge. Big, solid, dependable Gareth. There was Ricky still, small, lightning fast. Always four others. Graham still travelled with them as the Ministry Healer, and he was becoming increasingly concerned about the health of Bellamy. He was docile these days, and submitted when Graham demanded to do a thorough examination. He was far too thin, and measures in several vital areas were lowered. But it was his behaviour that was most worrying. He scarcely spoke, no longer slipped the aurors in order to get up to mischief, or find a girlfriend, and was apt to wander off vaguely if not reminded what he was supposed to be doing. And yet, he did his work with casual efficiency, saved a few pumpkin-heads, and called up the strong magic when needed without fanfare, and as if it was a matter entirely routine.

Franz died. Bellamy was cool and composed when he attended the funeral. Then his own employee, Jason Wiley, died. Jason had spent a large part of his life working for Bellamy, and only his middle daughter had left the area. He was buried in the enclosure on the property, that already contained the graves of his aunt and uncle, who'd worked for Bellamy before him. There were a few other graves there, too, although most of Bellamy's former employees were buried in other places, not one that was hidden from the world. Even Ginny, Bellamy's first wife, was buried at the wizard cemetery near London. His second wife, Luna, was buried in the walled garden on the estate, that Kevin Wiley had made. Melissa was a widow, and Bellamy tried to offer sympathy. But he was so filled with his own pain, each death adding to it.

The week after, Graham had extra monitors in his kit. Bellamy obliged again when he was ordered to Graham's room for an examination. It was as if he couldn't trust his own judgement, and so did whatever he was told. But the sensor devices that Graham touched to the forehead of Bellamy only served to confuse his healer. One monitor was supposed to measure general mental acuity, another, subtly different, the degree of confusion or alertness. They were both off the scale, as other measures often were when used on Bellamy. They definitely did not indicate confusion. But sometimes, it was like Bellamy was of a different species.

Graham was still concerned. Was the great wizard going mad? Could he be dangerous? The aurors carelessly lost him one day, although he hadn't disapparated, just wandered the wrong way after visiting the toilet. They found him gazing at the sea, having apparently forgotten he was supposed to be at work.

That Friday, after work, Graham reported to Kate. There was a real concern that Bellamy was not himself. Kate listened, frowning, and then called in Deirdre, her chief adviser. Graham repeated his story. Rumours were spreading, quiet, whispered rumours. Bellamy was so greatly respected. But what havoc could he wreak if he really went mad?

Manfred applied for a job as head of a different department, even though the job carried less prestige than he currently enjoyed. But Manfred had been Bellamy's known enemy for too many years. He was worried what the head of the auror department might be compelled to recommend. Other wizards could be easily controlled simply by removing their wands, and most wizards, wands or not, lost their power to work magic when they became confused. But Bellamy could call up a power that made heads hurt, and, as often as not these days, would forget even to raise his wand. It was known from instances in the past, too, that he could be very greatly weakened physically, and could still, it seemed without effort, do things that no-one else could do.

Beth visited again, and again Bellamy requested a month off. And again, he appeared better when he returned - a little less thin, a little more alert, though he still scarcely spoke. Tom Davenport, his own grandson, had won the position of head of the auror department. Bellamy congratulated him, smiling, pleased for him. Tom had wanted to be an auror since he'd been small. He wondered why Manfred had left the job, when it was generally so much desired.

Julie died. Bellamy heaved a sigh of relief. He was free. He could die. He went to the funeral, quiet and expressionless, then went home. In an easychair in his bedroom, it was time. There was just that place in his mind, he knew where. Just a slight squeeze, and he would be dead. He'd tried to do it before, long ago, when he'd been a prisoner of the Dementors. But he'd been too weak then. He'd be able to do it now. His will was prepared. A note asked that he be buried next to Luna in the walled garden...

But Ginny said he was absolutely not allowed. And then Luna. They were side by side, ganging up on him. Again he argued. He should be allowed to die. Everyone had to die sometime. Why couldn't he die if he wanted to. He'd always done what Ginny told him, always done what Luna told him, and almost always done what Julie told him. But when Julie appeared, too, and told him that he was definitely not allowed to die, that he was still needed, he gave a shriek of pure frustration, and stalked out of the house, walking, walking on the moors. He tried again, sneakily, a long way from his home, hiding next to the stone wall. They didn't say anything that time, just ranked themselves together, and looked at him accusingly. The three of them. He gave up, cried for a time, then slept, next to the wall.

The next week, it was supposed to be Spain. Among the aurors ready to accompany him was Nathan Bagster. Bellamy looked at him, leaned against the wall, and said that if Nathan went, then he was not. Tom came to talk to him. Bellamy said that he had nothing against Nathan, that Nathan had never done anything to him, that he merely refused to have him close.

With Bellamy rumoured to be increasingly confused, Nathan had suspected that his chance may have come. But this was the great wizard, and although Bellamy didn't seem to know anything for sure, he thought he'd best be discreet, and said obligingly that he'd stay behind, although adding spitefully that it appeared that Bellamy was not himself, and that he'd best be humoured. Tom glanced at Bellamy, worriedly, but said only that he'd ask for volunteers. They were an hour late, as they had to wait for another auror to pack and present himself ready for departure.

At dinner that night, Gareth asked Bellamy why he hadn't wanted Nathan near him. It seemed he had to be reminded that the incident had even occurred, and then he gave a vague and meaningless answer. Gareth persisted. He wanted a proper answer. Bellamy looked away and said that he didn't know. Gareth was insistent, finally asking whether Bellamy had looked at his mind, did Nathan mean him harm? Bellamy was apparently tired of being questioned, rose from his chair, and wandered toward the door. Abandoning his own dinner, Gareth quickened his steps to catch up. Two other aurors also followed.

"Did you look at his mind?" Gareth asked again, and this time he had a sort of an answer, as Bellamy stared at the darkness, and said in a troubled tone, that he didn't think he could do that any more.

Gareth was silent, just walking with him. He didn't seem to have any direction in mind, just walking quite fast, but mechanically. At last, Gareth said firmly that it was time to go back to the hotel. Bellamy stopped and looked around, lost. Gareth took his arm, and guided him, "This way." He was overcome with pity. He hadn't believed it before, but it appeared that the great wizard really was losing his clarity of mind.

Yet, mostly, there was little obvious change, except that he was very quiet and easy to manage. He accepted guidance as he never had before, but he cured a series of pumpkin-heads the following day, even keeping most of them calm. Surely one couldn't work a cure like that without a great deal of mental precision as well as force.

Friday afternoon, when they returned, Gareth told Bellamy not to go home just yet, that he wanted him to go and see Tom. So Bellamy just touched his wand to his luggage to send it home, and did as he was told. And even that spell, casually used, was one that Bellamy had invented, and that no-one else, aside from Beth, had ever been able to reliably master.

Manfred happened to see the pair as they passed, on their way to Tom's office, and was thankful it wasn't himself that might have to make a courageous decision. Surely the great wizard, if he truly was going mad, was too dangerous to be allowed to live. People had been trying to kill him for most of his life. He trusted the aurors, though. Manfred reckoned that the aurors could kill him if he needed to be killed.

Tom had his reports from the week, and only invited Bellamy and Gareth to join him for afternoon tea with him, as he made conversation. He spoke to Bellamy about the Quidditch match at his place a few weeks ago, and they discussed the chances of Abercrombies against the Bournes, as was set for the following Saturday. And he said to Bellamy how his sons, especially David, always loved the dragon matches. Bellamy, unusually, smiled. "The first time I made a dragon like that, it was to threaten a Minister for Magic. I was lucky to be forgiven!" Tom and Gareth both laughed. It was one of the stories, and they'd both heard many stories of the great wizard. They never really knew how many were true, but it seemed that the dragon must have been.

Bellamy rose. "Finished with me, now?"

Tom nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow week, if not before."

Once he'd gone, he said to Gareth that he thought it would be all right, that even if he was a bit confused now and then, he didn't seem the slightest bit dangerous. Gareth nodded, not very happily.


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

Chapter 12:

The following Tuesday, little Damien Blythe told his uncle that they were going to Grandfather Harry's on Saturday, for the Quidditch match. Damien's parents had never learned the skill of apparating with a passenger, so they went by car. The car was followed, discreetly, and its destination marked. The followers repeated the address and directions again and again to each other, even using a touch of magic to try and overcome the enchantments that had people forgetting what they had learned of the whereabouts of the hidden home.

It took a week to organise. Bellamy was to be finally overwhelmed and killed. He could bat aside a spell with his hand. He would surely not be able to bat aside a hail of bullets. Even divided among eighteen wizards, the reward was large. Any survivors among the medj helpers would have their memories modified. That way they could not claim any portion of the reward, and would not even need to be paid. It was to be a duel attack. Wizards with wands, and medj killers with powerful firearms, the medj force to go first. Endeavours were made to get more information from five-year-old Damien, but he said that they weren't allowed to tell, and closed his mouth very firmly.

Sunday night, a week and a day after the Quidditch match, forty-three men, including eighteen wizards, walked quietly through the hospitably open gates of Bellamy's property. There were some last minute doubts. Surely the great wizard would not have named his property Emohruo! And hadn't it always been said that he lived in France, somewhere close to the coast?

It was a cold February night. No-one was about. Three dogs raced toward the intruders, barking furiously. They were quickly dealt with, two with spells, and one with a bullet, but silenced. The wizards fully expected Bellamy to have a force of security guards, alert and dangerous, and they advanced stealthily.

But out of Bellamy's employees, there was not a single young fighting wizard. The Barnes and Clare were Medj, and others were old. Even Caradoc was middle-aged. In the small home furthest from the big house, and furthest from the men, Caradoc blinked open his eyes. He hadn't really heard anything, and it was cold outside. Half asleep, he went to the toilet, and was returning to bed, when a horse whinnied, then another. He paused. It wouldn't hurt just to have a look around. His wand was close. It always was. He threw a cape over his warm pyjamas, and looked outside the door. Nothing was visible, so he stopped and put on socks and boots.

Another horse whinnied, a high-pitched neigh that conveyed alarm. Bellamy had bred his horses for intelligence, as well as speed and athleticism, and now others took up the cry. Strange men should not be creeping around at night.

Caradoc hurried. Something was going on, and long ago, Caradoc had been an auror. Clare stirred and sat up. Caradoc said, "Something's wrong! Take no chances, but rouse who you can." He started to open the door, but turned again, "Phone Bridon and Diane."

Clare phoned Bridon and Diane, and then the phone rang in the big house. The boss was the one that needed most to be woken. The noise of the horses was rattling the attackers, and when one jumped the fence and galloped toward the men, snorting, a short burst of fire brought it down.

Bellamy, asleep in bed, was arguing with Ginny again, tossing and muttering in his sleep. He didn't hear the horses, the burst of muffled gunfire, or the phone. There was too much noise in his own head. Julie was being irrelevant. She was just telling him that he wasn't allowed to cut his hair. And Bellamy spoke aloud, fretfully, "All right, I won't cut my hair, but you've got to let me die!"

Chris was up now, and called to Will to use the side entrance. There were men at the front door, but Chris and Will, followed by Tracy and Chrissy filed quietly though the door that led into the gymnasium.

"They're trying to kill the boss," said Will, and forgetting prudence, he went as fast as he could toward the bedroom.

The sound of the phone finally penetrated the dreams of Bellamy, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Outside, Caradoc was behind cover, and was methodically stunning all those he could see, helped after a time, by Melissa and Klaus, in spite of their age. Klaus found that he could no longer make a stun spell, which required some force of mind. He switched to the Body Bind spell, which was easier. A burst of gunfire made them all dive to the ground, and two of the attackers, attempting to get behind the defenders, were hit. And then a shrieking of pain added to the noise.

Bellamy emerged from the bedroom, wearing only sleeping shorts, and flooded the house with light, as men with guns tumbled over themselves through the front door, and then into the room where he stood. Bellamy was a born fighter, and comprehension was quick. Three men dropped, but more were pushing into the room.

Will, entering from the other side of the room, gave a cry of rage, and launched himself in front of his boss. No-one was going to kill his boss.

Bellamy wrapped an arm around his friend, intending to disapparate with him, taking him away from danger. He was too late. A burst of fire ripped through Will's chest, and took Bellamy in the left shoulder. They both fell.

Bellamy's view was blocked, but he could feel. He felt for his attackers, exerted his will, and one, then another, fell unconscious. There was another burst of fire, and Will, and Bellamy under him, were hit again. Tracy brought that man down, and now both Melissa and Caradoc entered, behind the attackers, from the direction of the front door. Tracy, who'd never before fought in her life, nearly stunned them too, in spite of the obvious night attire.

Bellamy had his head back, an arm still wrapped around Will. He was concentrating, pushing away the pain of his wounds, and causing more men, still outside, to drop unconscious. Caradoc turned, leaving the boss to the others, and he, too, was finding and stunning more attackers, most of whom were now beating a quick retreat. Bellamy was concentrating on the ones with guns, as they were more likely to be lethal. Caradoc was brought down, then Lillian, luckily only stunned. A burst of fire hurt a few horses, killing one, apparently pure spite. Klaus was doing well, five men with guns were now down, struggling impotently against the total body bind. Klaus was a cook, and old. He'd never fought before, either.

Bridon and Diane apparated from the apparation zone where they'd appeared, to just outside the front gate. They accounted for the last three, who'd been trying to flee.

Except for continuing moans from two wounded men outside, it became quiet. Someone revived Caradoc, whose training had made a resurgence. He competently disarmed and tied up all the attackers, taking charge.

Chris, Chrissy and Tracy were with Bellamy and Will, who lay in a spreading pool of blood. Beau arrived, leaning on his crutches, aghast at the mess. Bellamy was talking to Will, soothing, reassuring, telling him what a wonderful thing he'd done, that he was all right now, that he was warm and safe. Will was dying, and the damage too great for magic to repair. Will turned his head to his boss, made a pitiful attempt at a smile, and the big, feeble-minded man died, convinced that he'd saved the life of his boss. And in spite of battered face, his age, and the ragged pyjamas he wore, there was a dignity in his death.

Bellamy put back his head and closed his eyes. His big friend had died for him. No-one else was dead or much hurt. He'd counted them off in his head, and they were all fine, if shocked. Simon arrived. Simon was a heavy sleeper, and had been slow to listen to Naomi when she insisted she heard something. The boss was lying with his eyes closed in a pool of blood, the body of Will still on top of him.

Chris said, in a voice that came out slightly high-pitched, "We'd best move Will."

But when they laid hands on the body, Bellamy tightened his grip, and said, "No, I have to look after him."

Caradoc entered and took in the scene. Will obviously dead, Bellamy badly wounded. "I'll fetch the aurors, and a healer, too."

Chrissy knelt by the side of Bellamy, who still firmly held the body of Will. "He's dead, Boss," she said.

But Bellamy answered, "I know he's dead. I have to look after him."

Tracy knew some first aid, and Bellamy was bleeding badly from the shoulder. He didn't protest as she told him that she'd just make the bleeding stop until the healer arrived. They didn't argue with him about Will. Chrissy just stroked his forehead. He closed his eyes again. His head seemed to be buzzing.

"They killed my horse, I think," he said, sadly. And then he looked at Chrissy, panic suddenly in his eyes. "You won't die, will you?" Chrissy was eighty-three.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, and promised. "I'll try not to for a little while."

Graham arrived then, together with three aurors. The secrecy of Bellamy's home was obviously a thing of the past, and they needed the aurors, and they needed the healer. A uniformed auror, whom Bellamy didn't know, was observing the scene. Bellamy looked at him perfectly calmly. "Would you mind modifying the memory of each of the attackers? They should not remember how to find me."

The auror almost saluted, as he agreed.

Chrissy said persuasively, "You have to let Will go now, Harry, Hermione is waiting. She'll look after him, now."

Bellamy smiled, and said that he should have remembered. Hermione would look after Will for him.

Graham looked at his shoulder, and said that he'd come back to him, that there were wounded outside, and that someone had done a good job stopping the bleeding. Simon and Chris gently pulled Will away from Bellamy.

Ten minutes passed. "Chrissy?" said Bellamy, tentatively. "They said I'm not allowed to make myself die. But it's all right if someone else kills me, isn't it?"

Graham had returned, and waited, listening for the answer. The shattered shoulder would be easy enough healed, but there was more wrong with Bellamy than a wounded shoulder. Chrissy said that she didn't think it was all right for Bellamy to be killed. Bellamy started talking, in a tired voice, saying more than he had in weeks. The arguments he was using when Ginny and Luna came to him. "They say I'm not allowed to die. But it's too hard to see everyone else die." And he looked at Chrissy again, still close, pleading, "Please don't die yet, not you, not Chris, not Klaus - I don't think I'm strong enough for any more."

Again Chrissy said that she didn't think any of them would be dying yet. Bellamy's voice was getting very tired, but going on and on. He was too tired, too old, it was time he died. And suddenly, complaining, "Even Julie, she never liked to think about Ginny and Luna when she was alive, and now they've teamed up. They're all against me!" And he looked toward where Will lay. "And Hermione! She says I should have no trouble getting better. But I'm tired of getting better, I want to die. I'm not strong enough to live. It hurts too much to live when everyone else dies."

Graham interrupted finally, having a close look at the wounded shoulder, before getting out his wand. Bellamy quieted, looking again at a spot just above Will. Spells healed the shattered bone, spells started the job of repair of torn flesh. At Graham's request, a bowl of warm water was brought. The light faded from the room. Melissa flicked the switch, and it was light again.

Graham was surprised. "Who was making the light then?"

"I think I was," said the tired, old voice of the man he was treating. His shoulder was bathed. Bellamy looked again toward the body of Will, and spoke, "Hermione says you're to have a look at my leg."

Graham made an exclamation. He'd assumed the blood that covered the thighs of his patient was from Will. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it was Will, I thought it was his hurt." It was only the fleshy part of the inner thigh, but the wound was still bleeding, and severely. A part of Bellamy's fatigue was loss of blood.

Graham treated the simple, though quite severe wound, and said in a bracing tone that Bellamy would be better in no time. Bellamy said slowly, tiredly, that he knew, that he always got better. Graham was rather appalled, though, when he did the Niscos - both the LV and energy levels were way, way down. Bellamy had lost a lot more blood than he'd realised. It was Sybil, the housekeeper, who'd been perfectly routinely cleaning up the blood with spells. He might have realised sooner, otherwise.

Will was buried on the estate. He'd been in his early twenties when he came to Harry. A big young man with a battered face, taking his courage in his hands, walking fearfully up the drive, and roughly, it seemed aggressively, demanding a job. Harry had known his fear, felt the memories of abuse, and the shame that he felt, and had taken him under his wing. But Harry had benefited as well. There had been severe illnesses, and it had been Will whom he had relied on at those times. It was always Will whom he wanted when he was sick. But Will, too, was in his eighties when he'd been killed.

Tom Davenport, in his role of head of the auror department, visited Bellamy on Monday. It was just after Will's funeral, and Bellamy was in bed, very tired, as he'd insisted on attending, even though a wheelchair had to be found for him. He was questioned about the attack, as was his staff. Two days later, Tom returned. Kate Potter, Minister for Magic, came also, and presented several of Bellamy's staff with Orders of Merlin. There was even a posthumous one for Will, who had thrown himself in front of Bellamy. Kate wove her magic of charm and beauty. They all adored her, each of them feeling as if they'd been singled out for extra attention.

It was obvious that too many people knew of his home. Will had been killed, as well as three dogs, and two of his beloved horses. His staff and friends had been threatened. Grandfather Harry wrote to each of the members of his extended family, and said that, regretfully, the Quidditch matches were to cease.

Spells and enchantments were renewed, and when Tom tried to return to check on a few details, he found he could no longer remember how to get there. Nor could Kate. Nor could, it seemed, any other. Only Graham still visited, very proud to be the trusted healer of Bellamy. And when Kate demanded to be told, again, how to get there, Graham held firm, and refused to say. Kate looked at him, utterly surprised that there was another, beside her grandfather, willing to defy her. For a moment, she was angry, and then she relaxed, smiling at Graham to his profound relief, and said that he was probably right.

Graham visited daily for a week. It took longer than he'd expected for his patient to be fit enough for work again, but Bellamy explained that potions never seemed to work with him - blood replenishing potion was useless. He just had to get better himself. His left shoulder would take a few weeks to be free of pain, and his right leg refused to support him for a time, but as he'd so tiredly said he would, he did get better.


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer__: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world. _

Chapter 13:

The next month, young Archie Barnes, now living in London, and working as a security guard, married Ursula Parker. Bellamy was not well enough to attend, rather to his own relief, but sent a generous wedding present. Archie's parents, who managed his wealth, were disapproving, but Bellamy insisted, and became irritable when they objected. "Whose money is it?" he said. They did as he asked.

Archie was triumphant. He'd set his heart on marrying one of the descendants of the great wizard, and Ursula knew him as Grandfather Harry through both her mother and her father. There'd been a lot of competition for Archie, as it had become a matter of prestige to marry one of the Potter clan, but Archie was a bulldog once he'd set his mind on achieving a prize, and he had developed a tender love for the pretty girl. Ursula was a nurse, as had become something of a tradition in her family. She was loyal and hardworking, neither especially talented nor especially intelligent. Just an ordinary, nice girl.

Three weeks after the attack, Bellamy was still tired and weak. His leg was better, but his shoulder was still painful. It had been a severe injury. His depression deepened. His staff watched over him, as he was apt to forget about mealtimes, and one frosty morning, it was discovered that he'd slept at least part of the night, wrapped in his cape, in the horse paddock. In a tacit agreement, they kept their worries very quiet. No-one told even Graham, who gave Bellamy a clearance to return to work two weeks later. Bellamy didn't think of doing anything else. Graham said he was to return to work. "Start Monday again?" suggested Graham. Bellamy nodded. Start Monday.

On the far side of the world, Beth accepted a proposal from a young man of the royal family of her Pacific Island Home. He felt himself honoured. It was suitable that the greatly respected magician should marry him.

Beth was seventy-five, but looked more like forty. She'd always been plump, now she was undeniably fat. She'd always been plain, now she was no longer youthful. She was very highly respected, and the man she married gave her the physical union she needed, even if it would never be the intense communion she'd shared with Jeremiah. She was making a daily telepathic check on her father, discreetly, as he became annoyed when he thought his privacy abused. After the month long wedding celebrations were over, she'd come visit. She had to see him before he started his journey.

When Bellamy resumed his spell-breaking, he was surrounded only by experienced aurors. They stayed close, and they shielded him from the sight of others. The Ministry still wanted the prestige of having the one wizard in all the world who could break the unbreakable spells, and Kate deemed it an essential service, but his increasing confusion was to be kept as quiet as possible. He never seemed confused when he did his work, and few people knew that he'd become so quiet and passive. There didn't even seem to be any women, and Bellamy had always had women. On Graham's advice, they let him walk when he wanted, or swim, or use the gym. But they told him when to go to work, when it was time for meals, and when it was time to go home. He did whatever they said.

One Friday, instead of disapparating, he walked quietly out of the Ministry building, not appearing to notice the auror who'd been taken by surprise, but now followed him. He descended to an underground railway station, and the auror, totally unfamiliar with that method of travel, lost him. Bellamy went to a house he owned in London. It seemed to him that he should not apparate any more, as he was a bit crazy now. And this house was very hidden. He thought that no-one aside from himself and Beth knew of its existence. House-elves knew of it, and even though there were none left in his home, it was kept clean and fresh by some of their kind, who visited every few weeks.

His staff were very worried, and when they contacted the Ministry trying to discover his whereabouts, the worry spread.

Monday morning, as if he'd done nothing unusual, he walked through the doors of the Ministry building, ready to go back to work. He was thinner than ever, as he'd only had one proper meal over the weekend, and a slice of bread now and then when he thought of it, from a single loaf that he'd bought, now left out to become stale on the kitchen bench.

Maybe he was not as vague as he appeared, as again the next Friday, the aurors who followed him, lost him, and had to report back, shame-faced, that they'd lost him.

More grave discussions were held. Advisers were consulted. An ancient and respected witch, unrelated to Bellamy, gave her view that he should be put down, as a matter of prudence, to be done as soon as possible, while he was still docile. He might very likely even do as he was told, and allow his healer to do the deed.

Graham would have been horrified at the suggestion, but was in Greece, working. Others agreed with the witch. Bellamy had the power, they suspected, to raze whole cities with a glance. Hadn't he killed several thousand Dementors one long day, although no-one before him had ever been able to kill just one. He was quiet now, but what could happen tomorrow?

Tom and Kate were both at the meeting, but it was difficult for them. He was Kate's grandfather, and Tom's great grandfather. It was Manfred who spoke up for Bellamy, suggesting that maybe some tests should be made, that he could be quizzed about his feelings, that even something be arranged, see if he was safe if he was in a fight, for instance. The postponement of a decision was accepted with relief.

That Friday, Bellamy managed to lose five aurors who tried to follow him, left a location device they'd planted on him in a rubbish bin, and went to his secret place. House-elves greeted him. To the community of house-elves, he was a hero, befuddled in the mind or not. That weekend, he was coddled. He did little, mostly just stared into the fire. It may have been a mistake, stopping the visits of his family. Seeing his family, and especially the babies, had been good for him. Now he made no visits, received no visitors, and no longer apparated. Another grandchild died, and a great grandchild. No-one told him.

Monday, back to work, never questioning that that was what he was to do. His mind seemed so opaque these days. He no longer heard the thoughts of others, no matter how clear and emphatic. He never tried to look at their minds in any case, and thought he'd lost that ability, though he'd done it easily enough when he'd been fighting, seeking out the minds of his attackers, and then rendering them unconscious. But fighting was different.

Tuesday, the surrounding aurors appeared to lose him, as he walked along a footpath that led for miles along the coastline. Two men approached him, challenging him to a fight. He stared at them as if he didn't quite see them, and turned aside. One grabbed him by the shoulder that was still not quite healed, and said again, roughly, that he had to fight.

His brow creased, and he told them that he couldn't fight any more. He was not allowed.

The men glanced at each other, one shrugged, the other threw a punch. Bellamy dodged, still very, very fast, in spite of everything. The attacker was unbalanced and stumbled. Bellamy turned and started to walk away. Again he was grabbed, and again he dodged the attack.

They wouldn't leave him alone, and in the end, he turned and faced them, waiting, not dodging. They were supposed to get him to fight if at all possible. They had not been told he was a wizard, or that he could kill them with a thought. Standing still, he let them inflict as many bruises as they chose. It seemed he didn't even feel the beating. By the time they reckoned they'd earned their money, Bellamy knelt dizzily on the path. His glasses were broken.

He raised himself when they left, looking at the sea. It had an allure, and he walked straight across the sand, although staggering rather, slipped off a few clothes, and swam out to sea. Aurors ran after him, shouting. They could accept without too much worry their orders to make this test, but they still cared about him, and now it was perfectly likely he'd drown.

He came ashore, hours later, much further along the coast. He was only wearing underpants, and tried hard to remember whether he was allowed to conjure clothing for himself. Shaking his head to push back the clouds of confusion, he eventually decided that it must be all right. He couldn't hurt anyone just by conjuring clothes. He wandered then, not even noticing that he was hungry. No wizard could conjure food, although some could conjure something that looked like food.

Two evenings later, the aurors finally found him, asleep on the beach, in jeans and jumper, and with a cape wrapped around him. He was pleased to see them, and allowed them to take him back to the hotel, where Graham treated his bruises and put the anti-scarring lotion on the ugly marks where he'd been wounded. Graham had been furious when he knew the test that had been made, but Bellamy didn't appear to have come to any harm, aside from a few cuts on his feet. He hadn't thought of conjuring footwear.

They organised him a meal then, as he wasn't sure whether he'd been eating. Graham said he was appreciably thinner. Tom was with them now, and had brought a specialist in diseases of the mind and brain.

After dinner, Tom, Graham, and Healer Kunder watched and listened as Gareth subjected Bellamy to a detailed questioning. Bellamy, half the time, scarcely appeared to hear, sometimes gave a vague and irrelevant reply, but when Gareth persisted, would often come up with an answer.

Asked whether he'd been in a fight, he denied it. Asked why there'd been so many bruises, he didn't know. When Gareth finally reminded him specifically that two men had beaten him up and broken his glasses two days ago, he stared into the distance, and vaguely agreed. When asked why he hadn't hit back, he answered straightaway, and with surprise. "Crazy men aren't allowed to fight. They might hurt someone."

They stared at him in disbelief. And it was Healer Kunder who leaned forward, and asked, "Are you crazy, Harry?"

Bellamy ignored him. Harry was in the past. He was Bellamy now.

Gareth resumed the questioning. "What else are crazy men not allowed to do, Bellamy?" Bellamy was looking around vaguely, and started to rise from his chair. Gareth said, "Sit down, please, Bellamy." It was in the firm voice they'd started to use when they wanted him to do something.

Bellamy sat, and Gareth asked again, insistently, "What else are crazy men not allowed to do?"

And this time he answered, "They're not allowed to apparate, and they're not allowed to work magic."

Gareth tried Kunder's question, "Are you crazy?"

Bellamy stared into the distance, and Gareth repeated it, and Bellamy finally acknowledged it, "A bit crazy." And suddenly full awareness stirred, and he said, "I'm not dangerous, but you can put me down if you want. I won't stop you."

They were silent, appalled, even though it had been under consideration. But Tom, at least, knew they'd been fooling themselves. His Grandfather Harry would have to be proven dangerous before he could possibly order such a thing. And he was suddenly quite sure that Kate would feel exactly the same. He smiled at Bellamy, "You're Grandfather Harry. How could we do a thing like that?"

But Grandfather Harry was looking vague again, and only stared at the window.

There was a full list of clients, and two days work had been missed. Bellamy was at breakfast the following morning as if nothing had happened to interrupt the week. The tests of mental acuity and confusion/alertness made by Graham and by Healer Kunder gave as little information as before. Off the scale in the direction that indicated a brilliant mind and very fully alert. But he had to be reminded to get his wand, and then didn't know the way back to his room.

Three pumpkin-heads, including a very important German dignitary, had been waiting since early Wednesday, and pumpkin-heads were urgent. Bellamy focused his mind, rescued each of the men, and kept them calm sufficiently that they only collapsed, sobbing, when he released them from his mental penetration.

Healer Kunder was observing, sitting next to Graham. He said to Graham, "Clarence Holmes refuses to do pumpkin-heads. He says they're just too dangerous."

Graham nodded, "I've seen some records. Bellamy's suffered a lot of injuries from pumpkin-heads."

Bellamy leaned against the wall, waiting for the next patient. Like most of the areas where he worked these days, there was a room adjacent, where wizards and witches with sufficient influence were allowed to observe. Very few were ever allowed in the actual work-room. Healer Kunder was an exception. Bellamy took no notice of the others in the room with him, though they knew from experience that if the next patient was not quick enough, he was likely to lose interest and go wandering off.

The day's work went without incident, Bellamy accepting the guidance of his aurors, doing as he was told. They let him walk again afterward, as he apparently wanted to, in spite of the rain and the cold. They ordered him when needed, but let him go when they could. They stopped him swimming, though. The ocean looked grey and bleak, and they shivered as they looked. So they told him firmly that he was not allowed to go swimming in the ocean, but that he could use the swimming pool in the hotel.

He still had the beautiful build that he'd always had, though there were ugly marks where the bullet wounds had been, and he was too thin. He didn't make any overtures to a woman who shared the pool, but when she approached anyway, he suddenly seemed to remember about sex, and turned to her, smiling. The woman caught her breath, feeling intensely the sexual attraction he'd always been able to radiate with a change of expression, voice, and even, sometimes, posture.

The aurors were discreet, and discreetly guarded a different room that night. They didn't think there'd been a woman for months, and wondered whether it was part of his problem. He slept better that night, and the next, again sharing her room.

Quicksilver Ricky asked about it at breakfast the second morning. "Are crazy men allowed to have sex, then?"

Bellamy was uncertain, "I don't know," but then there was one of those disconcerting flashes of full awareness, and he grinned, "But crazy men have to do what they're told, and I'm pretty sure that she told me I had to have sex!"

They laughed. Maybe there wasn't really too much wrong with him.

Healer Kunder was still with them, still watching and observing. But that day, Bellamy needed to call up his strong magic to cure a wizard inflicted with the Prickle Curse. Gerald Kunder's nerve broke and he bolted from the room. Bellamy had to raise the level of his control of the patient, imposing a warmer calm, as such panic is infectious.

Afterward, Kunder regarded Bellamy with fear, and his report contained a strong recommendation that he be put down. Such power could not be safely held by a wizard whose mind was going.

Kate looked at his report, and vanished it. As Tom had thought before her, he was Grandfather Harry. No-one was going to try and put him down.

The work ran well into Sunday that week, and they were not confident that Bellamy understood that there was only one night to be spent at home, not three. The aurors kept Bellamy with them, guarding him in a room in a London hotel, before returning him for duty Monday.

Another week, another country. There was another woman that week, sharing his room Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights. Bellamy seemed happier and more alert than he'd been for weeks. He apparated home, arriving in the outside apparation zone, to stroll around in the afternoon sunshine, hugging his horses, and making friends with two Border Collie pups that Diane had given Melissa.

He talked with Beau, who was filled with enthusiasm as he mapped out a future breeding plan for his horses, describing exactly what he had in mind. Bellamy only wanted to ensure that they still carried the blood of Sheba, even if so far removed, and also the Pinto, a little stallion renowned for his cleverness. Most years, there were three mares breeding, and Bellamy reluctantly agreed that some of the young horses could be sold. There were far too many, and hardly any of his staff rode regularly any more. Connor Maguire should have his pick, on long-term loan as he'd always had.

Chris wanted to know whether several young security guards should be hired, but Bellamy said no, that he didn't think they'd be needed. And then, very definitely, that if anything like that attack occurred again, it was to be left strictly to the witches and wizards. Medjkind couldn't work magic.

His staff had taken matters into their own hands. For the last few weeks, the Barnes had been practising with the new rifles they'd illegally obtained, while Tracy, Naomi, Lillian and even fumbling, middle-aged Sybil had been practising defence spells. Since her marriage, Lillian no longer lived on the estate, but arrived on a daily basis to look after the gardens. It was still a large staff for an estate of only around a thousand acres, whose livestock consisted of a few dozen horses.

Saturday, Bellamy was taken by car to an animal pound in a large town thirty miles away, in order to select a couple of adult dogs to replace those killed. They should have known better. It was lucky there were only five dogs currently on death row. Bellamy was taking all five dogs, plus the dozen cats, two of them very old, and one of them an extremely ugly, now shaven, Persian. A horse box had to be sent for, and seventeen cages were loaded into it.

Bellamy stayed with the animals, soothing, calming, and already instilling in the minds of the dogs that the cats should not be chased, and that people should not be bitten. He took none of them as his own personal pets, though he did take charge of some initial training. With his unusual abilities, training animals was a simple matter of communicating his desires. Their job was to give warning if strangers appeared. To begin with, they were just to know those people meant to be there.

The assorted dogs settled down peaceably. But the resident cats, mostly tabby, took exception to the newcomers, and there were a lot of squabbles for a few weeks. The ugly Persian became the beloved pet of Sybil, who learned a special spell to make the regrown fur stay smooth and unmatted.

For weeks, Bellamy seemed almost like his old self, and the aurors relaxed. Tom always only assigned experienced aurors, though, and seldom changed them. They managed him very well, Gareth and Ricky and the others, even when he was most confused.

Simon Broadfoot died. Simon had saved his life once, and his son was now married to a great grand-daughter. And then there was Grant. Big, burly Grant, who'd been with him when he was facing a terrible threat one time, and had done his best to give comfort. He didn't go to the funerals, as he knew that again he should not apparate.

Three more deaths occurred, but he was not told, and the newspaper was somehow not available for him to read. It was perfectly obvious that again he was living in a daze. Even now, his work was smoothly competent, but the aurors overheard distressed mutterings in the night, and he was more than ever apt to wander off without notice or any apparent purpose.

The sudden death of Chris Barnes could not be concealed from him, and it may only have been Beth's arrival that saved him from total collapse. Somewhere within himself, he thought he was being incredibly selfish. It was Chrissy who had lost her husband. He should be strong for Chrissy. But Beth was strong for Chrissy, and Beth gave the comfort her father could not.

Three days later, while Bellamy was working his magic in Germany again, Beth took it upon herself to cancel any further trips. She waited for him when he returned to the Ministry Friday, and it was Beth who took him home. For a time he wandered around vaguely, talking to cats, talking to dogs, talking to horses, but with scarcely a word for humans, although making a great effort for Chrissy.

Saturday morning, she went to him, and handed him a gift. It was a money belt, and she told him that it held a great deal of money, in several currencies, as well as a spare passport and documents. They would automatically change, she said, when his actual documents were updated. She told him that there was a charm on the moneybelt, and that it would not normally be noticed. If it was noticed anyway, it would not be counted as significant, and would be quickly forgotten. And then she looked deeply into his eyes, and in a compelling voice, she told him that he should always wear it. And when he couldn't wear it, he should keep it very close. It was important. He should always wear it, she emphasised, concealed under his clothing. When he needed it, he should remember that it was there.

Bellamy looked down obediently, and repeated that he would always wear it. And then she checked his passport, and instructed him to adjust the birthdate. He was twenty-one again. She filled his wallet, and told him to keep it always in his pocket. She reminded him that his passport and work documents were also important, and that he must take care of them. And then she said, that if he wanted, he could go. He looked at her, scarcely able to believe it. He could go?

"You can go."

Bellamy left the house. She watched from the door, as he walked off down the drive without a backward glance. He didn't take his wand, took no spare clothes, no provisions, just walked away.

He was still walking as darkness fell. He wrapped himself in his cape, and went to sleep under a tree. Scarcely a thought crossed his mind. He had already pushed away all thought of who and what he was. Bellamy, formerly Harry Potter, was lost.

End of Part One.


	14. Chapter 14

_Bellamy, Part 2_

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Chapter 1:_

There were ten workers in the vineyard in the South of France, most of them backpackers, seven men and three women. It was hot work, and they wore the minimum of clothing. Most of the men were bare-chested, tanned with exposure to the sun.

One called, "Eh, Jean! Lunch!"

The young man didn't hear, just continuing to work methodically, at the simple, manual task he'd been allotted. They called him Jean, because when they'd asked his name the first time, he said it was Jean. It was not a deliberate decision not to use his own name, and if they'd asked him again the day after, it's probable he would have given a different name. The man who had called went to him, and tapped him on the shoulder. Left to himself, Jean probably wouldn't notice it was lunch-time.

They thought he was simple, but he worked hard, and was young, clean and goodlooking. He'd become something of a mascot, even if he did need looking after. He rarely spoke, but seemed happy, and was no longer as thin as he'd been six weeks before, when he'd been hired. They speculated sometimes on his past, but when questioned he would just stare blankly, and maybe start to wander off.

But there were scars - on his face, on his body, and, most intriguing of all, a couple of circular white bands around his wrists, as if he'd been tied up for a long time once, or maybe tied far too tightly. A watch on each wrist had always previously concealed those scars. But a mugging had left him without his watches, and without his glasses, which were broken and forgotten. His fat wallet had been checked and thrown back at him with a grunt of disgust. "Empty!" After a while, he'd put his wallet back in his pocket, and wandered off again. Everything was blurry without his glasses, but he was a crazy man now. It was obvious to him that a crazy man was not going to be able to see clearly.

After work, the men went to their communal showers, leading off from the dormitory. Bellamy was with them, doing what they all did. One of the men noticed that he had yet another scar, a puckered purple mark high up on his inner thigh. None of the men had ever taken any notice of the moneybelt that now lay with his clothing and towel. It was not heavy, and the pockets in it appeared small, but were magically capacious. Capacious enough for a very large amount of money, spare documents, and one even contained half a dozen diamonds.

"Coming with us to the inn, Jean?" one asked.

Bellamy nodded. He always did what the others did. When he dressed, he put on an incredibly bright, red-orange shirt. The others winced at the brightness of that shirt, which never seemed to fade, no matter how often it was washed. But it made him happy, and they liked to see him happy. They hadn't thought much about it until one day they gave him too much to drink, and after a while, his eyes had started to run with tears. He could not be comforted, and could not tell them what was wrong. They put him to bed, but he'd wandered off in the middle of the night. He was found in the morning, asleep next to the high fence that surrounded the vineyard. They only let him have lemonades now. Even those who tended the bar of the small inn, knew to give him lemonades, no matter what he asked for. And he'd always thank them gravely, as if that was exactly what he wanted. They thought him a sweet boy. And in spite of his rather thin face, and the white strands in the long hair that he wore in a ponytail, something about his innocent, unfocused gaze made them think of him as a boy.

Claude was referring to Sven, one of their number who was off with the only single woman amongst the work crew. "Lucky bastard," they said. Inge was gorgeous.

The conversation turned to sex. Bellamy didn't contribute, just relaxed in his chair, enjoying the sensations of cheerful warmth that surrounded him. Three times he was addressed before he noticed. He was being teased. They had decided he was probably a virgin, and now they were quizzing him. To the direct question, he looked confused, and replied that he didn't know, that he didn't think so. As he often forgot his bodily need for food, he also no longer seemed to feel the need for sex. He no longer thought of his past - he didn't think much at all, only doing what he was told, or following random impulse, like the impulse that had brought him here in the first place, still bruised from the mugging, and half-starved.

His companions were in conference, laughing, planning. Bellamy had forgotten them, and wandered off to the window, looking at the night. The generous lady who worked at the bar was consulted, and she looked speculatively at the boy staring out the window. Marie had an ample body, was no longer young, and was free with her favours. No-one thought these days about the possibilities of disease from casual sex, as the annual REF injections had eliminated that worry, and even contraception was finally improved.

Marie laughed, nodded her head, and Pierre took her place at the bar, assuring her that he was very experienced at bar-tending. For the next half hour, some very strange drinks were poured, but as he mostly forgot to charge for them, there were no complaints.

Meantime, Marie walked over to Jean, and he looked at her, surprised, before a rare smile lit his face.

They asked her about it after. Did she think it was his first time? Did he seem to know what to do? But Marie would only smile and said very little, only mentioning that he had a beautiful body, and then she took him over a wine. She thought he deserved it.

Jean's workmates were very interested in how he'd fared, but he only gave his usual, slightly confused stare when quizzed. Claude began to suspect that he sometimes used that stare quite deliberately to discourage questions. The work gang came here every evening, Marie was thinking, and somehow, she'd begun to be sure that Jean was not at all simple-minded. He was obviously not quite right, but it was more complicated than a slow mind. Two or three times a week after that, Jean would be invited to the room of Marie, somewhat to the jealousy of those who had suggested it in the first place. She arranged a more professional replacement at the bar than Pierre, though.

A month later, and the work was coming to an end. The work crew was disbanding. The boss was consulted, and agreed to keep Jean. He was a useful worker, and needed to be looked after. But Jean didn't appear to understand that he was to stay, and when Claude, Pierre, Sven and the rest, packed their bags to go, he too put his few clothes in his backpack, and walked away.

Beth worried about her father that winter. But she'd made a vow to leave him to work out his own destiny. It was going to take a long time, she thought. She made a daily check on him, though she'd begun to wonder whether she should even do that. It only upset her, and he was not really likely to die. There should still be plenty of money in his wallet, and there was a fortune in his moneybelt. And he never did appear to feel the cold much.

Bellamy still had plenty of money in his wallet. It was not expensive living when he mostly forgot to eat, and lay down to sleep wherever he happened to be when darkness fell. People tried to look after him now and then, taking him to warm shelters, and pointing him in the direction of food. Sometimes he'd stay around for a few weeks, but then one day he'd be gone.

The Ministry, with Kate in charge, wanted to know where he was. They were sure that Beth could tell them, but she would only say he was alive. The delegation to her island home consisted of Kate, Tom, and her half brother, Adrian. And she explained again that he would undoubtedly return to them one day, but that right now, his home and his family were too hard for him to bear. Even if they found him, they should leave him alone. She totally refused to give them the slightest clues as to how he was living, and where he was living.

Her own words to her family persuaded her. From now on, she would stop checking on him. He had to be quite alone. She was sure that she would know, in any case, if he was badly hurt, or dying. She'd come for him then, but otherwise, he was to be on his own.

Alex, no longer fit enough for work as an auror, was offered the job of trying to find Bellamy. Hospital and police records all over the world were scanned, looking for the name of Henry Bellamy, Harry Potter, or variations of those two names. From some areas, it took months to get the lists, although hospital and police records in Britain were checked daily. When names of interest were found, additional checks would be made, work records, tax records, passenger lists.

They tried getting one of the aurors whom he knew well, to send out a pretend distress call. Maybe he'd come to their help. But either Bellamy didn't hear, or was not deceived. He did not appear.

By the time Bellamy had been gone a year, Clarence Holmes was again beginning to make himself very rich, using the telepathic cure originally invented by Harry decades before. Few of his patients spoke about it afterward. Even those who didn't feel his clumsy intrusion into their minds felt the humiliation of being manacled. And a few of the women patients wondered if he'd been entirely ethical in his treatment of them. They felt strangely confused when they tried to think about what had occurred in that room.

But even when whispers spread, there was a constant demand for his services. He charged extremely high prices, only worked an easy three day week, but there was no-one else. When the ordinary healers failed, spell-bound people became desperate.

Meantime, Bellamy roamed all over Europe, vaguely heading south in the winters, and usually north again as summer approached. He was already fluent in all the major languages of Europe, now he began to understand a few of the more obscure ones as well. He'd get some casual work now and then, although to begin with, it had to be offered. Only after a workmate took him to a Labour Exchange, did he learn what he should do when he wanted work. He did better after that. His apparent innocence and helplessness roused a protective instinct in both men and women. His workmates generally looked after him, sometimes fairly carelessly, sometimes with a real concern. Now and then he'd be taken to a woman's bed, even given a home for months at a time.

But unless he was working, he'd become restless, and eventually wander off. He never fought, and never defended himself if attacked. He learned to keep away from policeman, as they always seemed to want to take him away somewhere. He became an expert at quietly fading into the shadows when he spotted a policeman. He never used magic, except that he shaved as he always had, just running his hands over his face so that the beard growth vanished. He routinely cleaned himself and his clothes with magic whenever washing facilities were not available, and so never quite looked a derelict. But these things were so habitual that he'd forgotten they were magic at all.

***chapter end***


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 2/ __Chapter 2_

By the time Bellamy had been gone ten years, the auror department was having increasing difficulty keeping control of crime. 'Medj-baiting' was reaching astronomical proportions, and a certain beautiful and clever witch was becoming more and more influential, and more and more difficult to control. They increased their numbers dramatically, in response to demand. Alex had long retired, and Fred now hunted for Bellamy. He was given three helpers from the ranks of older ex-aurors, trying to find the great wizard. He was needed.

The culprit was unknown, but three of the aurors were found placidly sitting in Diagon Alley one morning, with pumpkins for heads. Clarence Holmes refused to consider trying to cure them, although he consented to see them, and at least say whether they were dead or alive. Beth was contacted, and agreed to the trip to do the cure, although she'd never attempted to cure a pumpkin-head. She was confident that she would do the cures without difficulty. Her natural telepathic ability was far greater than the relatively small talent of her father, even though her father had developed that talent to a considerable degree. Beth could know minds, easily and naturally, and had been able to do so from the time she was born, and probably before, but she didn't know pumpkin-heads, and had never learned to make the barrier that her father used to protect himself and his helpers.

The first two were all right, one being kept calm, and one being efficiently stunned as he attacked. The third - small, slight Quicksilver Ricky overcame the two aurors in attendance, although they were much larger than himself and armed besides, and then kicked Beth half to death before running frantically, knocking out two ambulance men as he went.

It took three weeks for him to became calm enough to find Graham, and ask whether the witch was all right, and what he should do.

Beth recovered her physical health, but she appeared to have lost the power of magic, as most witches and wizards did when they became very old, or were sick.

Bellamy's mind was opaque these days. He never felt the pain of his daughter, although he slept worse than usual that night, his distressed mutterings becoming louder and louder. The man in the bed beside him finally gave him a thump and told him to shut up. Bellamy quietly dressed, picked up his backpack, and walked off. The other man went back to sleep and snored heavily. But snores were normal, and no man rebuked him.

Bellamy walked. He still walked three weeks later, a lot more thin. It helped if some fast food vendor would call out to him suggesting that he buy. He felt as if there should be something he was doing.

In Amsterdam, he sat in the waiting room of a labour exchange. He was supposed to be waiting his turn to be interviewed, but he stared at nothing and had tears running down his cheeks. Three aurors were in grave trouble, and one had helped look after him in the last months that he'd worked at the spell-breaking. Bellamy didn't quite hear the cries for help, but he knew there was something. The three aurors were killed. Bellamy didn't know why he cried. The middle-aged woman who worked at the labour exchange stared uneasily at him, and then rang the police.

He was docile when they took him to the hospital. The sedative pills he was given were apparently obediently taken, but spat out as soon as there was an opportunity. He could have magically vanished them, but he wasn't supposed to work magic. They soon found that he was easily controlled with just a firm tone, so didn't use any restraints aside from supervision. For two days, he was kept at the hospital while decisions were made. But before he was committed, he slipped quietly out of the hospital in the night.

The following day, influence was brought to bear, and a photograph was displayed. Fred was a day late, but still hoped to find him. He couldn't be far away. This was the first trace they'd had of him since he left.

But Bellamy was on an ocean-going yacht, heading for Australia. He used the name of John Heinz. The owner and skipper of the small crew already regretted hiring the young man. He was a good enough worker, and surprisingly quick to learn, but his balance seemed very bad, which made him unsuitable for work on a yacht, and it had quickly become apparent that there was something wrong with him. Sometimes he trembled for no reason, and he seldom spoke. It turned out he couldn't read, either.

At the first port, he produced his passport when asked, but when it was checked and returned, the port official said, "Thank you, Mr. Bellamy."

The skipper checked his passport then, too, though he said nothing in front of the official. But later he asked, "What's your name?"

Bellamy said Joe Knight.

The skipper stared at him, and looked again at the passport. He asked again, "What's your name?"

Bellamy hesitated. The skipper looked like he'd given a wrong answer. He hazarded another guess, hesitantly - Michael O'Connor?

It was definitely the face of Bellamy that looked back at him from the page of the passport, though he was surprised to see that he was as old as thirty-two. Quietly, he asked, "Is your name Henry Bellamy?"

A frown of confusion crossed the face of Bellamy, and he hesitated before he said that he thought so. The poor skipper wondered what he should do, and decided to do nothing. The problem would be left in Australia, where Bellamy had said he wanted to go from the first.

Bellamy was happy to leave the yacht in Australia. He liked Australia. He wandered contentedly for a long time, mostly remembering to buy meals with money that he had quite efficiently exchanged at a bank. He was taken by surprise one day, though, when he tried to pay for a hamburger, and discovered his wallet was empty. He stared at the annoyed vendor disconsolately, before apologising and wandering off. The vendor was suddenly sorry for him, and called after him that he could have the hamburger. But the thin young man didn't appear to hear.

He was directed to the Australian equivalent of a Labour Exchange, but they didn't seem to cater for foreigners. They suggested he go to Sydney. There was always work in Sydney. Bellamy did as he was told. He went to Sydney, sometimes walking, sometimes he'd hitch a ride.

He forgot his intentions as he entered the big city. He even forgot that he hadn't eaten for days, just wandered. There was an atmosphere of excitement and aggression. There were a lot of fights going on. He observed, curiously. Young men, creating mayhem. Lots of young men. Some spoke, or mostly yelled, in accented English, others used Serbian or the closely related language, Croatian. He stood and watched as a group of youths cooperated to turn a car on its side, and frowned. They shouldn't do that. So far he'd been ignored, as he wandered vaguely in the midst of a street battle. A few police watched, oddly reluctant to intervene. Spotting them, he faded away from their sight, penetrating deeper into the heart of the big city. The scent of a restaurant called him, but he remembered he had no money, and wandered on, soon forgetting again that he was hungry.

Two Serbs had been cornered by several Croats, and were being badly beaten. Bellamy fussed around. "Fights should be fair!" he was muttering, "Fights should be fair!"

He circled, coming closer, and then retreating. Crazy men were not supposed to fight. But when boots started to be used on the now prone Serbs, he flew at those who kicked, fighting with a lightning speed and ferocity that soon frightened the Croats into retreating. The police found the isolated group of trouble-makers, that were not too dangerous to arrest, and Bellamy was rounded up with the others. He still wore his small backpack as he almost always did.

There was a queue for attention as they waited at the police station. "Sit there," Bellamy was told, and he sat there.

One by one, the lawless youths were processed. Relatives were contacted, and most taken home, after being charged with some fairly minor crimes. They didn't know what to do with Bellamy, who'd looked at them with an innocent gaze, and said his name was William Tomlinson, in spite of the passport that distinctly said his name was something quite different. He'd obviously been fighting though, and had no money to bail himself out, and no relatives to collect him. For the time being, they charged him with disorderly conduct, and put him in a cell with a drug dealer.

He looked around blankly, and then sat on the bed. He'd been arrested before, over similar incidents of fighting, and had never been detained more than a night. He was more frightened of hospitals than he was of a night in a gaol. It was late, and he curled up on his bed and went to sleep until the shouting from the next cell disturbed him. The Serbs were angrily demanding that a meal be brought to them. It was only their right, they said. "We have a right!" But the shouting was in Serb, and the policemen were not going to get the translator back at this time of night.

There was a pause, the two Serbs and the policemen staring at each other in angry frustration. Bellamy said, "They're saying you should give them a meal."

"A meal!" exclaimed one.

Bellamy nodded.

"It's two o'clock in the morning!" the policeman objected. Bellamy translated to the Serbs, and the pair started to yell again. After some negotiation, the prisoners agreed to pay for their pizza, and an order was sent off that included enough for the half dozen policemen as well. Even the drug dealer, in the cell with Bellamy, put in his money for a share.

Not long later, the Serbs were quiet, the drug dealer was quiet, and the policemen were quiet. Bellamy prowled the cell restlessly. No-one offered him any pizza. He didn't ask.

A check by a policeman a while later found him still restlessly prowling, and now it was noted that he trembled. The side of his face was very bruised, and the policeman wondered if he was ill, or maybe suffering from concussion. Two hours later, Bellamy paced the cell, slowly, tiredly, and still he trembled. It was decided now, the police doctor would be called in the morning to check him.

At dawn, he curled himself up on the floor, against the door of the cell, and slept.

Finally, there was a breakfast served. It was the first time Bellamy had eaten in several days. He sighed afterward, lay down, on his bed this time, and slept until they roused him, asking him to translate for the Serbs.

He obliged, fluent in Serb. They were at the reception desk, and it was relatives that were now trying to secure the release of the two young cousins who'd been fighting. He didn't appear to be paying much attention, and wandered over to the window. Mechanically, he translated the voices he heard, and when a loud voice speaking Chinese was raised, that was translated, too. The business with the Serbs was completed, and the policemen turned their attention to the young man who still stared out the window.

They took him to an interview room for this more serious talk. They started with that same question - What was his name.

Bellamy obliged, as usual, with the first name that came into his head. Kevin Greene. They asked again, and he stared at them baffled, realising that it must have been a wrong answer. And he was silent as he was quizzed about his background, his address, his occupation. But he started to tremble again, a trembling that went on and on, even after they stopped. They came to the charges, but had to remind him why he was there, as it seemed that he'd forgotten. But after some persistence, they got out of him the statement that fights should be fair. And people who were down, should not be kicked. By this stage, they'd almost decided to drop the charges.

The questioning took a different tack. "How many languages do you speak, Mr. Bellamy?"

He looked vague, and they had to be more specific. "Do you speak Chinese?"

"Yes."

"Do you speak French?"

"Yes."

"Do you speak German?"

"Yes."

They were beginning to think that he was agreeing to anything. They tried, "Do you speak Swahili?" And there was finally a variation, "Only a little."

One said, smiling, joking, "Do you want a job as an interpreter!"

Bellamy said, simply, "Yes." He needed a job. If he didn't have a job, he didn't have money to buy food.

The other was taken aback. Jobs were not handed out this way, whether or not he had a dozen languages. They had to explain to him that it was a joke, that he could not have a job just like that. Bellamy looked away, vaguely, and rose from his chair, vaguely, going to the door and trying it. He was ready to go now. But the door was locked, and one of the policemen said to him firmly that he should sit down, he was still under arrest. He sat, obediently, but started to shake again, and they returned him to his cell. The doctor would be there soon.

Coffee and morning tea for the officers on duty, having it at their desks, as was their custom. This time one of them noticed his eyes on the biscuits, and offered him some. For the first time, he smiled. A wide, tentative smile that betrayed his utter vulnerability, in spite of the bruising and the scar on his face that made him look somewhat of a tough.

The drug dealer was gone, and now the cells were empty aside from Bellamy. Again he was pacing. He wanted to go now. He didn't like being locked up.

Doctor Anya Swift arrived, a no-nonsense woman, who wore glasses, and looked to be in her thirties. Bellamy was taken to the interview room for the examination. One of the policemen, Barry Reagan, stayed. They thought the prisoner was safe enough, but you could never tell.

She checked for concussion first, and then he was ordered to strip, leaving on only his underpants. As usual, the moneybelt was totally ignored. But it was not his bruises that held the attention of both Anya and Reagan. It was the fact that he looked as if he was starving. "When did you eat last, Henry?" asked Anya.

Bellamy didn't answer. Henry? No-one called him Henry.

"Answer the question, Bellamy," ordered Reagan.

What question? And he rose and wandered over to the door again. It was still locked.

"When did you eat last, Bellamy?" asked Reagan.

"They gave me a biscuit," he said.

"Before that?"

Bellamy stared around, his gaze unfocused, "I don't know."

Anya went about her business of checking his bruises, listening to chest sounds, and then checking blood pressure. She noticed something, and glanced at Reagan. "Barry?"

Reagan was leaning against the wall, looking closely at the exposed body of Bellamy. There were several bruises, but there were scars as well, two on the back that he'd swear were from knives, another on his front, and there were the scars on his face, too. But now Anya extended his hand, and indicated an old white scar that encircled his wrist. For the first time, Bellamy showed resentment, pulling away his hand, looking again at the door.

"We'll give you lunch, soon, Bellamy," soothed Barry, and Bellamy looked up hopefully. Lunch was good. They checked his other wrist, and found the same sort of mark. It appeared that this odd stray might have had a chequered history.

They didn't let him go, just soothed him with more food whenever he started prowling. It worked nicely during the daylight hours, but he became worried when darkness began falling. Trembling again in his cell, and pacing more swiftly, every now and then trying the door as if it might miraculously be unlocked. He didn't appear at all dangerous, and they were only keeping him until they decided what to do about him.

At length, one of the night duty men tried something. He slid open the door of the cell, and invited Bellamy to join them for coffee. A guiding hand on his arm, and he was taken to the tea-room. His trembling ceased, and he smiled his thanks when the biscuit tin was offered. He was told to stay there, and help himself to more biscuits if he wanted. The two introduced themselves, Alec and Rob, and they asked him again what his name was. But he'd been reminded now, and he said, though rather uncertainly, "Bellamy?"

The tea room was warm, and he was left there. It was not as if any easy escape led off from the room. When Alec looked back in, an hour later, he was asleep on the floor.

There was more trouble that night, and more youths were brought in. The noise woke Bellamy, and he appeared from the tea-room, rubbing his eyes. Alec looked at him, "You don't know Arabic, by any chance." It appeared to their considerable pleasure that he did know Arabic. Again he translated, easily, almost automatically. He was convenient to have around.

He started trembling again when they suggested he return to the cell, even when they promised to leave the door open. So they took a blanket and pillow from the bed, and put him back in the tea-room. He was obviously confused, he was half starved, and he'd been useful to them. His status was already changing from prisoner to something more like a mascot.

The doctor, Anya, returned again the following day, bringing with her a set of scales, and it was confirmed that he was severely underweight. But he didn't appear a danger to either himself or others, and no beds were available in mental institutions. 'Community Care' was the buzzword of the day. Community Care never worked very well. The charges were dropped, but when they let him go, they suggested firmly that he leave his backpack, and he was to come back for lunch. There were only a few clothes and a towel in the backpack, and they wondered if he would return.

He did return, and was again provided with a meal. "Just like an animal," one of them said, derisively, "Returning to where it was fed."

That night, again, he slept in the tea-room. And again, he was needed when there was more trouble between the Serbian and Croatian communities.

Sydney was a sprawling city, that was suffering the problems caused by a non-discriminatory immigration programme. Australia accepted the troublemakers from scores of countries, though, oddly enough, it was often the second generation that got themselves into trouble in their new country. There was no requirement that prospective immigrants have a knowledge of English, and a competent interpreter was a valuable commodity. The station had a list of interpreters for various languages, but Bellamy could handle nearly every language needed. Unfortunately, he couldn't read.

Word spread, and he became accustomed to being taken by police car, to different stations, at all times of the day or night, in order to translate for people of many different nationalities. He spoke a lot more as an interpreter than he ever did on his own behalf. He didn't know every language. He failed with Turkish, and he had no Japanese at all. "Why don't you know Japanese?" he was asked, half-joking.

His answer was perfectly serious. "I don't like Japan. I only went there once."

For ten days, he slept every night wrapped in a blanket, in the station tea-room, ignoring the voices around him. He was most needed at night, and he came to know the half dozen officers on night duty more quickly than those on day duty. He seldom gave them their names, no matter how often they reminded him. And for some reason, he invariably called Alec, 'Pete.' Another he called 'Manfred,' and viewed with distrust. 'Manfred' had difficulty getting his cooperation, as he'd just stare at the man and forget what he was supposed to be doing.

The officer in charge finally put his foot down. Having a homeless man sleeping in the tea-room was not professional. Anya checked him again, finding an improvement in weight, and on being told that he was to be put out, yielded to temptation, and took him home herself, rather as if he was a stray dog. The red tape was efficiently cut by a senior officer, on the representations of several of his men, and he was to be paid a retainer, as a police interpreter, with a fee for every job done. They even arranged that he be paid in cash, as he didn't seem to have a bank account, and they doubted his ability to organise one. They suspected he might just starve again if he had no money.

In the next weeks, Bellamy learned to carry a beeper, and appear for translating duties whenever needed. He began to find his way around, and Anya started to take pleasure in having him in her home. She'd taken him home out of pity. He obviously needed to be looked after. But when the bruises faded, and he became less skinny, there came a temptation. She had to make the invitation, but she was well rewarded with a surprisingly skilful lover. He was still a mystery. She knew he was not feeble-minded, but he spoke little. When he went out, he'd mostly take his backpack, leaving behind him little trace that he'd ever been there. She asked him why, once, and he said that sometimes he got lost. Anya fully expected to find that, one day, he'd be gone.

Anya, with her sister and brother-in-law, took him to the beach one Sunday. He sat on the sand beside them, lifting the sand in his fingers, and letting it drift through his fingers. He looked around, at the sparkling sea, and the sunny day, and smiled. His smiles were so rare that they were looked for, and Anya felt herself well rewarded. It was not a hot day, in spite of the sun. Few were at the beach, and fewer swimming. But Bellamy rose, and asked if he was allowed to go swimming. On being given consent, his clothes were quite quickly cast aside, including a moneybelt that no-one took any notice of, and, unselfconscious, he walked straight into the water, wearing underpants. Anya was not the only one who looked at his body with appreciation.

The narrow-shouldered brother-in-law was frankly envious. His wife leaned toward him, and murmured, "You've got a much better brain, though," and Ernie felt a bit better.

Ten minutes later, they were on their feet, watching anxiously as Bellamy continued to swim straight out to sea. He was almost out of sight when he turned and swam parallel to the beach, before returning. He came back to them after, looking frankly happy. He even made an unsolicited comment, "The water's great!"

There were other treats organised for him in the next weeks, by Anya, and by a couple of the policemen, too. Investigations had been made, seeking information on his history, but nothing had come to light. He was a mystery, but he seemed perfectly happy now, only showing agitation if he was questioned about his past. With the regular meals and the comfort offered by a shared bed, he began to improve. He was less confused, more alert, and was less apt to wander off in the wrong direction if he wasn't watched. His wallet had a reasonable amount of money in it again.

Eleven weeks after his arrest, Alec and Rob, on their day off, took him to a place where they could hire jetboats. The three of them played together that day, and watched their charge laugh with joy as he raced across the water. He was a bit dangerous. It seemed as if he couldn't keep a straight line, and continually veered to the left. Anya watched with a slight frown. That night she quizzed him about past injuries to his head. But he couldn't answer, and only started to tremble when she persisted. She soothed him with some love-making, but was very thoughtful. By the time she slept, she'd decided that Bellamy was to have some thorough medical investigations. Maybe there was a physical cause for his confusion.

A couple of days later, Henry Bellamy, aged one hundred and thirty-eight, was walking. He liked to walk, and he wouldn't get lost, because Anya had given him a card with their address on it. If he became lost, he had to find a taxi and show the driver the card. But he hardly ever got lost any more.

Inside the police station, Patrick, Fred, and Gareth waited for Bellamy. Their investigations, and the watch that had been kept, had finally paid off. But it had taken months for the information to filter through, that a Henry Bellamy had been arrested in Sydney, Australia. Further enquiries were made, and it became certain that it was their Bellamy. The Ministry had requested cooperation, and the Police Commissioner himself had been in touch with the officer in charge at the station. They knew that these were very important men who waited. Even if those external representations had not been made, the powerful wizards carried with them an air of authority and power that impressed.

Yet they would say little about why they wanted the mystery man, and some of the policemen there were concerned for the stray they'd adopted. He was to be taken away, it appeared, and Barry remembered those old scars on his wrists. Did these rather frightening men have anything to do with that? He was somewhat reassured when it was mentioned that Bellamy now lived with Anya, and Patrick laughed, saying to the others that they should have known, "Trust Bellamy!" That laugh sounded fond.

Fred glanced at the policeman, and said reassuringly that he shouldn't worry, that they would look after Bellamy. And Gareth added, "We won't force him to come with us, you know. If he doesn't want to come, we'll just leave him be."

But the one Bellamy called Manfred replied in rather an acerbic tone, that Bellamy didn't need to be forced, as he just did whatever he was told!

"Except when _you_ tell him, _Manfred,_" said another.

"He calls you Manfred?" Patrick asked Robert.

On being given an assent, Patrick mentioned, "He knew someone called Manfred once."

Barry asked, "Did he like him?"

Patrick grinned, "Not much!"

Bellamy's beeper sounded. That meant he was wanted for a job. He wasn't far away, and turned his steps toward the police station. Fifty feet away, he froze, and when he came closer, he was out of sight behind cover. Barry watched for him from the window, but didn't see him. The aurors kept out of sight. They wanted Bellamy inside where they could surround him. They were confident that then Bellamy would go with them, although, of course, he would not be forced. No-one could force a wizard of such power to do what he really didn't want to do.

Bellamy could feel them there. Fred, Patrick, Gareth. He was torn. They were from a world he had fled and had not thought about for many years. But it was a world he cared about. He stood, watching the door from his position behind a tree.

After twenty minutes, his beeper sounded again. He switched it off.

After another twenty minutes, the wizards came out the door, looking for him, wondering if he was there. From behind his cover, Bellamy lifted a hand, making an odd, yearning sound, scarcely audible. He'd known Patrick and Fred since they were twenty, and rather shy of him. They'd been freshly qualified then, and he'd known them ever since. Now they were seventy. Patrick had white hair. Fred was half bald. Even Gareth was middle-aged. The aurors looked carefully around, wondering if he watched. Bellamy put his beeper on the ground, and backed quietly away. They very quickly found the beeper, but in spite of all the cooperation given by the Australian police, it was two years before they found him again.

***chapter end***


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 2/ __Chapter 3_

In a mental institution in Western Australia, the same three wizards talked to the Chief Executive Officer. Bellamy was an inmate, committed four months before. He'd been picked up, half starved, and badly beaten. A file was checked. The wizards were in no hurry. It was a closed institution, and Bellamy had not escaped in the previous four months, so was not likely to, now.

This time, Graham, the healer, was with them, and he listened attentively, as comments were made. The patient had come in as Tom Stuart, until his passport was noted, and the name corrected. It sounded like Bellamy was still thin, and Graham thought of the monitors he carried in his bag. He'd soon be making his own checks. There was a note that he was easily managed normally, but that he reacted very badly to any perceived restraint. Influence had already been brought to bear. Full copies of the file were being made, and papers had been approved that released him into the care of his guardians.

Finally, the CEO rose, and suggested they find him. On Ward 2B, he said. There was an unexpected difficulty. The ward manager said that he didn't know where his patient was. The CEO was taken aback, and said that he must know! But the elderly man responsible for the patients on his ward said not to worry, Bellamy nearly always turned up for meals.

Graham was looking at him narrow-eyed. "Surely if he's been committed, he must be within the boundaries!"

Old Ray was on the verge of retirement, and had a very good idea of how to run his ward with the least possible trouble from his patients. He shrugged. "In the beginning, when he went missing, we'd search and search, but could never find him. The first time he was noted as missing, the nurses stripped his bed, and the name label was removed. In the morning, there he was, asleep on his bed." He shrugged again. "I never worry, now. As I said, he nearly always turns up for meals."

So the four wizards waited in the dining room. Sure enough, Bellamy walked in, listening to the nervous fellow beside him explaining that there were usually just ninety-six cotton buds in a pack that should have a hundred. Sometimes ninety-seven. Bellamy listened with courtesy.

Patrick said, softly, behind him, "Hello, Bellamy."

Bellamy turned and stared. For a long moment, neither said anything. He looked around, Fred, Gareth, Graham.

The CEO had gone to his own better dinner, but Ray watched, alert for trouble. A couple of strong male nurses also kept an eye on the confrontation. There was rarely violence on this ward, and they followed the philosophy of Ray - never interfere unless essential.

Bellamy was tense. Patrick didn't want to be seen as an enemy, and instead of ordering, he asked. "Would you like to come home now?"

Bellamy's gaze ranged around the walls. He looked odd to the aurors, so much younger looking, almost defenceless, without his glasses. Finally, he spoke, "I'll get my things."

The nervous, sandy headed man beside him said, "Bellamy? Are you going now?"

Bellamy looked gravely at Damus, and said quietly, "I'm going now. I have to work."

Damus's voice squeaked as he spoke to the patients around, most wearing shapeless tracksuits. "Bellamy's leaving," and the aurors watched, bemused, as he was surrounded by other patients, some shaking his hand or patting him on the back, some, more shy, just reaching out to touch him. Most were men, but there were some women, too.

One old, old lady just stood, tears streaming down her face. He went to her, and touched a gentle hand to her cheek, "Come on, Merlene, nothing stays the same forever."

Each time they'd found traces of Bellamy, it had been noted that he was very thin. The aurors used a powerful argument. They took him to a very good restaurant, and ordered him an excellent meal. He spoke little, and they refrained from questioning him. But like the patients on the ward, they wanted to touch him. It was hard to believe that he was there after so long. They hadn't expected him to be normal, or he wouldn't have been committed. But he was more normal than they'd expected.

At first,Bellamy appeared to be as easy to manage as before. But after they checked into a hotel, he stood, turning his head as if searching, and then told Graham, who was to share the twin room, that he had to say good-bye to someone. They tried to stop him leaving, but this time he ignored them, although not objecting when Gareth followed. He even slowed his steps when Gareth begged.

Gareth was wishing very much that they'd brought a couple of young aurors by the time they reached his destination - he was too old to walk for miles after Bellamy. But it had been thought that he would be more likely to cooperate with his old friends.

Gareth waited outside a suburban house, definitely deciding they'd return by taxi. He conjured himself a park bench. Long standing didn't suit him these days, either. But he smiled as he inspected the attractive woman who was giving her lover a final, parting kiss. He was beginning to think that Bellamy was far better than they'd thought.

But when he suggested to Bellamy that they apparate back to the hotel, Bellamy declined, saying that he didn't apparate these days. He even refused to go as a passenger. The pair returned to the hotel in a taxi.

Graham wanted to do a thorough examination of Bellamy when they returned, and Bellamy was docile again. Various measures were not much better than when Bellamy had left, to Graham's disappointment. After all this time, he'd been looking for more improvement.

They checked his passport before they went to the airport the following morning, and on instructions, he changed his birthdate. On his own initiative, he took some other documents from his pocket, and changed the birthdate on some work permits, as well. The documents had a charm on them. They were always accepted as genuine, perfectly in order, even when a stamp showed a trip made before he was supposedly born. Quite often, the documents had been checked, and approved even when he'd called himself something quite different. According to his papers now, Bellamy was nineteen. Spare documents in the money belt automatically and magically changed so that they were identical. Even the aurors hadn't noticed the money-belt.

They thought it too risky to take Bellamy on a commercial flight, not knowing how he might behave. Their own private aeroplane had been sent over, together with four young, fit aurors. Bellamy checked when he saw the young aurors. He knew none of them, and suddenly it seemed that it might be like a guard. Patrick was beside him, felt his hesitation, and told him reassuringly that no-one would try and keep him against his will, that all of them were there only to look after him.

Gareth strolled over to the big young men, and told them to keep as far away from Bellamy as possible, consistent with their job. Leave it to his old friends. Sidelong glances were cast at the legendary figure, now being treated like a half-tame, half-wild animal. Bellamy still stood, trembling slightly, looking as if he might not comply after all. But Graham called casually, from inside the aeroplane, "Come on, Bellamy! We're waiting for you," and he boarded the aeroplane.

Beth was furious when she learned that Bellamy was in the hands of the aurors again. She said that it was not yet time, that he should have been left alone. The Ministry was unrepentant. He was not just needed for the spell-breaking, but they hoped that news of his return might reduce the crime problem. Good people, innocent people, were suffering and dying. They refused to consider sending him off again, only assuring her that he was not constrained in any way, and they would never force him to do what he didn't want to do.

Beth stopped arguing, but she gave Tom a caution. Not only should he not be allowed to apparate, but that it might be very dangerous to take him as a passenger, even if he appeared willing to cooperate. That Bellamy's power so much exceeded anyone else's, that even a random, half-formed impulse might still mean that the destination was not the destination intended. She reminded them that if Bellamy had been ready to return, he would have done so.

Tom Davenport was still the head of the greatly enlarged Auror Department, and Kate still the Minister, with Deirdre her very competent and experienced advisor. A lot of discussion had gone into the way that Bellamy was to be treated. His old friend Alex was still alive, and was consulted, as were some older members of his family, especially Adrian. They did not consult Healer Kunder, who had recommended he be put down. Bellamy would be allowed to go to his own home, in the temporary custody of Adrian, his son, and Thea, his wife, even when Adrian adamantly refused to divulge its whereabouts.

Adrian and Thea waited to greet Bellamy as he entered the Ministry building after his long flight. Thea had always been fond of him, and now hugged him, and exclaimed over his thinness. Bellamy smiled at his daughter-in-law, and hugged her back. He still wasn't wearing glasses, and Adrian commented. A frown of confusion crossed the face of his father, and he touched his face. Glasses? But then he was perfectly normal as he asked after their daughter, Candice. Thea said in a tone of regret that she'd died. Bellamy hugged her again, and said that he was sorry. He didn't ask how she died. He thought she must have become old, the same as everyone did. But Candice had only been thirty-three when she'd been murdered.

Finally home, almost dusk of a cold November day. Bellamy was unable to settle down, prowling around, greeting those who remained with obvious pleasure, but talking little. All the older ones were gone now, but Caradoc and Clare remained, as well as Simon and Naomi, Beau, and the housekeeper, Sybil. Adrian waited up until Bellamy was finally persuaded to go to bed.

But in less than an hour, he was up again, dressed, and walking outside, talking to dogs who didn't know him, but appeared to recognise him anyway, the horses, most of them in warm shelter, and even some feral cats, living in a hayshed. And that's where they found him in the morning, wrapped up in his cape, asleep in the hayshed, three cats curled up against him. His employees were upset. It seemed that he was just as bad as when he left. When discovered, he was happy to return with Clare for breakfast. It seemed that his years of wandering had at least left him with an appreciation for meals that were provided.

Adrian and Thea were willing to stay for a while, but not on a long-term basis. Adrian now taught Defence at Zefron School of Magic, in America, and Thea had her accounting business to run. Instead, Archie and Ursula Barnes, urgently consulted, agreed to resign their jobs, and join those of Bellamy's staff who remained. It would be a good place to raise their family, and maybe even live out their lives. They had a son, Peter, and were thinking of having another baby. Their parents were there, and Uncle Beau. Their grandparents were buried there. And they, too, felt the importance of having the great wizard around. Archie remembered much more peaceful times when he'd been younger.

A great deal of discussion was going on at the Ministry. Over the last months, Spectra McFiddan, now in hiding, had given up all pretence of abiding by the law, and had taken a great deal of pleasure in attacking aurors, especially. The witch was fast, very clever indeed, and had defeated one auror after another. It was unfortunate that the aurors were still inclined to the tradition of one-to-one duels when they tried to make an arrest. It was a foolish indulgence that had resulted in a hospital ward at St. Mungo's being fully taken up with the care of fifteen pumpkin-heads.

Bellamy hadn't been around for a long time, and Beth had not recovered the power of magic. There were dozens more pumpkin-heads in Europe, and several in America. Clarence Holmes still refused to try and cure these victims, too frightened for his own safety. He became so annoyed at repeated demands that he now refused even to see them, to say whether they were dead or alive. Bellamy was urgently needed.

It was not just pumpkin-heads. Other terrible spells had been revived, even used on innocent children.

They gave Bellamy just two days to feel his way at home, before Adrian told him that today he was to go to the Ministry and cure pumpkin-heads. Thea drove Adrian and Bellamy to an airport seventy miles away, and Bellamy was instructed to put a Charm on the car to make it unlikely to be noticed, stolen, and especially, not followed. Adrian could work magic too of course, and very efficiently. But Adrian's spells could be overcome. Bellamy's could not. Crazy men were allowed to work magic when under orders, it appeared, and Bellamy did as he was told.

He was being treated with kid gloves, and Patrick was there to meet him when Adrian brought him in. Other aurors were all around, but stayed back. They took him to the same workroom within the Ministry that he'd used before. Fingers were crossed. Would he still be able to work the cure?

Ambulance teams waited. The first pumpkin-head was brought in. Bellamy was looking around vaguely. A young, fast auror waited, wand raised. Rescued pumpkin-heads were so dangerous!

Ricky was there, too. Although fifty now, his lightning speed was still there. Bellamy's gaze passed over him, and then returned, and he smiled, "Ricky!"

"Hello, Bellamy," Ricky said gently. He was uncomfortable with this job. He was the one who had so badly hurt Bellamy's daughter, but he was the best, and knew he was the best. And he remembered the overwhelming berserk rage that had seized him. He knew to be very prepared.

Bellamy was looking at the observers now, through the wall that was nearly opaque from his side. He felt, rather than saw. They'd given him some spare glasses they'd found, but he seemed to find them uncomfortable, and kept taking them off. Adrian was there, also Kate, Deirdre and Tom. He shook his head. He didn't think he liked knowing people any more. The people he knew always became old, and then they died and left him alone.

Patrick finally nudged him. "The pumpkin-head, Bellamy. You've got to cure the pumpkin-head."

Bellamy's gaze found the pumpkin-head, who, without warning, was a man again, screaming in rage, and on top of Bellamy, his hands around his throat. Even Ricky had been taken by surprise, but swiftly stunned him, and pulled Bellamy to his feet again.

"You're supposed to put them behind a barrier, Bellamy," reminded Patrick, as Graham smoothed a lotion over a bruised throat.

"I forgot," said Bellamy, humbly.

Kate, watching, was glad she hadn't allowed outside observers. It was better to keep the malaise of the great wizard as quiet as possible. The aurors were under strict instructions not to talk.

Reminded, Bellamy was more efficient with the next few pumpkin-heads, placing them behind the barrier, and even remembering to work at keeping them calm. Tom was very pleased. For most of them, it might take weeks or even months before they would be recovered, but his aurors were being rescued, one by one, from madness and death. One was a second cousin. Bellamy commented on that one, even before the monster had a face, "He's Family!" It was a great, great grandson whom he probably hadn't seen since he was a child. But it seemed he could tell anyway.

They looked after him with care and tact. Either Patrick, Fred or Gareth were next to him at all times, he was controlled by no more than a firm tone, if needed - and he was fed very well. Graham had a shrewd suspicion that over the last fourteen years, he may have come close to starvation far too often. Even now, he was too thin. There was a day off. Then there was to be another day at the Ministry, more pumpkin-heads from overseas, and a few other wizards under spells that had left them not quite human.

On the day off, Adrian was just in time to saddle a horse and follow Bellamy as he cantered, bareback, toward the gate. He wasn't trying to leave, but he'd always ridden on the moors when disturbed. He hadn't asked any of his staff about friends or relatives, but in the misty dawn, had been looking at the names on the stones in the small cemetery on his property. Chrissy was gone, the skinny, sad-eyed girl he'd picked up in London one day many years before. Bad-tempered Klaus, who'd done so well when they'd been attacked. Tracy too. Melissa. He was glad they'd been buried on his property. It made it as if they were not so far away. So many ghosts walked for him, though they were not real ghosts, just memories.

Another day of work, and another day off. They were trying to balance the urgency of the need for him with the equal need to keep him happy, and not over-worked. He'd said that crazy men were not allowed to disapparate, but that didn't mean he couldn't do it.

Archie and Ursula were at home waiting to greet him after work that day. Their son Peter, was five. Peter stared round-eyed at the young man who, they said, was really very old, and the boss. When instructed, he held out his hand to be shaken, and said, "Hello, Boss." His father and grandfather had always addressed Bellamy as Boss, even when very small.

Bellamy seemed still as if he was only very tentatively held. They needed something to keep him more securely at home with his family and friends. Beau had a suggestion. Three dogs ran at his heels now, two of them picked up at the pound just a few days before. But Beau had been struck by the pathos of another inmate. He guessed it to be a Doberman/Great Dane cross - a magnificent creature, a bitch, only about a year old, he suspected, but unsafe to handle. But Bellamy would be able to tame her - he had an exceptional communication with all animals. And a pet of his own would help hold him home.

It was as they knew. The pound staff called her 'Dobes,' and Bellamy looked at her, said softly "Dobes?" and she ran to him, whining. He held her then, tight, and he was crying. Beau looked away, embarrassed, but Sybil, who'd come, too, had tears in her own eyes. They'd brought the horse float, and all the cages that they'd needed last time they were rash enough to take Bellamy to the pound.

For a little while, Beau and Sybil thought they were going to be lucky, and that he would forget that other dogs and cats waited for death. He didn't forget, and three more dogs beside Dobes, and several more cats were loaded into cages.

In the back seat, Bellamy still held Dobes. Dobes was terrified of confinement, as he was himself. She was a very intelligent animal, and knew that this man with the sick mind had saved her. She didn't want to leave his side. He talked to her, continuously, gently, as he never talked to humans. And Beau and Sybil listened, as Beau drove them back. Bellamy told Dobes that she had to know other humans. He might have to go away, although he didn't know when. And he told her that Sybil was lonely, and that she should go to Sybil whenever he was away, or gone. The dog whined, and licked his face that still ran with tears.

There was an unexpected result. Beau and Sybil were much of an age. They'd never taken much notice of each other, but when Bellamy told the dog that Sybil was lonely, Beau thought that he, too, was lonely. A few evenings later, he invited her to join him to watch 'muggle TV,' and a few evenings after that, she spent the night with him for the first time.

Sybil looked at Bellamy differently these days. When he'd been the great wizard, she'd been terribly nervous of him. Once, she remembered, out of sheer nerves, she'd dropped a tray of muffins all over him. But now he was just a young man, almost a boy, and rather pathetic. In her clumsy fashion, she tried to spoil him, even more than Ursula and Naomi.

The new dogs didn't take long to learn their jobs, and were shared out among the staff. The cats were all treated with lifetime anti-conception spells. There were far too many cats around.

***chapter end***


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

Part 2/ _Chapter 4_

Bellamy was very well looked after, at home, and at work. By the time December came, and he was to go on his first overseas trip, he seemed happier, and a lot more alert. When Graham checked him on the Monday, he was decidedly pleased. Weight improved, LV better than it had been, and sec and niv measures improved also. Adrian and Thea travelled on the same plane, as their first stop was to California, very close to their home. Archie and Ursula were managing perfectly well, and Lillian's daughter, Josie, had been hired as the cook they needed. Sybil had been doing it, once Bellamy returned, but Sybil was always having accidents in the kitchen, besides having to cope with the housekeeping as well.

A lot of activity went on when Bellamy was at work. The witches and wizards, whatever their jobs, practised defence spells, mostly under the tuition of Caradoc, and the medj employees practised with medj weapons. Even Clare had her rifle, and knew how to use it, though she was not at all sure that she could point it at a human, even in defence of the boss.

Bellamy was surrounded by young aurors, who no longer seemed to bother him. Gareth was in charge of the team of aurors, and Patrick, although seventy-two, was also present, purely to help keep him calm and happy, though he did a lot of the routine coordination, as well. Alexander, Jed and Ryde were all experienced, in their mid to late twenties, all big and athletic, all with that grim look that aurors customarily wore. There were two women, too, identical twins, redheads, Therese and Katrina Abercrombie, descendants of Bellamy. There had been some thought that women, and especially family, might have an advantage if he became more difficult to handle.

Bellamy stared at them the first time they approached. He knew they were family, and a picture came to him of little laughing girls bouncing up and down on ponies. He didn't like it. Family got old, and then they died. And he frowned at them, and started to tremble. He always had trembling attacks, and it was often unclear whether it was because of agitation, or not. This time, Graham was sure, it was because of agitation. It was too late to change them now, but maybe, after all, family should not be used.

The afternoon of their arrival was free. Gareth was horrified when Bellamy stated his intention. "It's winter, for goodness sake!"

A fleeting smile crossed the face of Bellamy. "Look at the waves! I want to surf!" And a short time later, he appeared in swimmers and with a surfboard under his arm, that he must have conjured.

Gareth raised his eyebrows, "I thought crazy men weren't allowed to work magic!" But Bellamy assured him that he wasn't very crazy right now.

"You _must_ be crazy!" said Gareth with conviction. "The water'll be freezing!"

Bellamy really grinned, now. "I won't expect you to come in with me."

Gareth looked at the aurors. Black Alexander shivered, expressively, very much hoping that Gareth wouldn't feel it necessary to order one or more of them to go in swimming as well. Gareth sighed, and gave his orders. Jed and Ryde were off duty, to cover the evenings and nights, Therese, Katrina and Alexander would watch from the shore. "You can go swimming if you want," he added, in an ironic tone.

The area was clear, and no threat apparent. Therese and Katrina forgot to stay alert, and watched Bellamy instead, as he crossed the sand. "They say he has a reputation for seducing female aurors," said one.

The other's eyes lingered on the naked back. "Pity it's Grandfather Harry! I wouldn't mind in the slightest, otherwise."

Ten minutes later, as they watched him balance on his surfboard, there was another comment. "Of course, he's about five generations back. It's not like it's really wrong..." But they never made the invitation, and it wouldn't have been accepted anyway. It may have been about five generations back, but to Bellamy, they had the clear feeling of family and were untouchable. Anyway, they were both married.

Jed guarded outside his room at night. They'd always done that when he travelled, even when no threat seemed apparent. Ryde patrolled the corridors of the small hotel, watching for threats. There were three American aurors, too. There was still that very large reward for the one that managed to kill him, and his absence of the last fourteen years had only made him seem more valuable.

In Britain, it was very quiet. The great wizard was back, and Spectra McFiddan was among the witches and wizards waiting to see what would happen. There were whispers that he was insane, or at least confused. But people were being cured whom no-one else had been able to cure. Surely he could not be insane. What if he turned his attention to law enforcement? He'd helped the aurors before!

The following day, Bellamy cured three pumpkin-heads, though pronouncing six others dead, cured forty or so others with a glance, and then raised the strong magic to cure a wizard with a most unpleasant skin condition. Alexander hadn't seen this obvious power before, and, like others before him, was struck with awe. Sybil may have begun to think of Bellamy as rather pathetic, but no-one who saw what he could do, ever thought of him as pathetic.

Every day, if there was time, he surfed, or, at least, swam. He was smiling more, listening more, as his companions talked, though seldom contributing a comment. Thursday, his eyes followed a walker on the beach. Thursday night, aurors tried to be as discreet as possible, as they guarded a holiday apartment without being spotted by the woman. He was with her Friday and Saturday nights as well, although Sunday, they were to travel to New York. Sunday night, in the luxury New York hotel, Bellamy struck up a casual conversation with a woman at the bar, and then spent that night, and another night with her, until she had to leave. The aurors were beginning to think that Bellamy was his normal self, except that he still declined to apparate.

But Tuesday night, he slept alone. And Tuesday night, for the first time in very many years, he had a true nightmare, and emerged from his room, trembling, and needing to go for a long walk to soothe his nerves. Jed and Ryde didn't want to allow him, and he paced unhappily up and down the corridor. He shouldn't disapparate, and he shouldn't fight, but he needed to _walk._

He had begun to look at Jed and Ryde with a shadowed gaze as if they might be enemies after all. Gareth was called, then Patrick. Patrick had known Bellamy in more normal times, and knew that he'd always had nightmares, and always walked off his quivering agitation afterward. Jed and Ryde were instructed just to let him go, and stay with him. As they watched a hurried departure, Patrick suggested to Gareth that maybe it was another indication that he really was getting back to normal.

Two hours later, Jed, getting tired in spite of his aurors' standard of physical fitness, firmly told Bellamy that it was time to turn back. Bellamy ignored him. He'd stopped trembling now, but was enjoying the walk in the night. Jed cast a glance at Ryde, for support, and used an even more firm voice. And when Bellamy continued to ignore him, they each grabbed an arm, and tried to forcibly turn him. Furiously, he tore his arms free, and backed away from them. For a moment, he stared at the angry aurors, and again his regard was shadowed. The aurors called for support with the device each of them carried. Gareth, waiting anxiously in his room, apparated to their side. Bellamy was trembling, facing the two aurors. "He refuses to come back!" explained Jed.

Gareth glanced at him, and said calmly, "Bellamy isn't a prisoner. He'll come back when he's ready, and not at all if that's what he chooses." He turned to Jed and Ryde. "You two had best return to the hotel. I'll talk to you later."

Jed and Ryde looked at each other, and then disapparated, each making a loud crack in the air as they did so. Still with that calming voice, Gareth asked, "Will you accept my escort, Bellamy?"

Bellamy was looking blank, with that vague stare that was apt to baffle and confuse. But he turned and walked, more slowly than he'd done before, as Gareth was no longer young.

It was nearly dawn when Bellamy turned back of his own volition. Gareth hadn't suggested it, thinking it unwise to try and exercise any control over him now. The auror was limping, and Bellamy walked more and more slowly beside him, finally even apologising. Gareth just grinned at him, "Bloody Jed and Ryde are going to be hauled over the coals. I don't think they'll try telling you what to do again."

Graham was very pleased when he heard that Bellamy was no longer unquestioningly obeying orders. He thought it an excellent sign. He was even more pleased at the end of the week, when he checked both the weight and the Niscos, and found improvement in each.

Bellamy had been away a week, there was still a big waiting list for him in any case, and Sidney Bourne decided that he wouldn't wait. He was inflicted with thorns, the healer hadn't been able to help, and he wanted to be cured before Christmas. There was a big party, and Christina was adorable. She wouldn't come close to him with thorns, though. Sidney could trace his ancestry back to Bellamy through three different lines of descent, though the closest marriage was between two cousins. He was seventeen, deemed adult in the wizarding world. He had the colouring of Bellamy, black hair, green eyes, but had shown no unusual magical talent, and had no discernible telepathy.

Holmes had few clients now, and he was able to be seen almost straightaway. Bourne was taken aback when he was expected to allow himself to be manacled, but Holmes put authority into his voice, not wanting to lose his patient. His income had suffered an enormous drop since the return of the great wizard. Bourne was very young, and conceded. If that was the way it had to be done... In a matter of fact way, one of Holmes bodyguards accepted the youth's wand, and then instructed him where to put his hands.

Bourne felt terrible. He was manacled to the wall, unarmed, and he was already wishing fervently that he'd waited for the great wizard. When Bellamy used the telepathic cure, he took care to explain to the patient that they might feel invaded - that for many, it was a terrible feeling to feel someone else's mind in their mind, and that some people could simply not tolerate it at all. But Holmes was paid in advance, his patient couldn't hurt him, and he had two bodyguards with him in any case.

Holmes dropped his head and started to concentrate. Bourne felt the horrible feeling in his head, and fought to stay calm, and allow the healer to do his work. Holmes found that area in the mind that knew that a man's body should not have thorns, and nudged it with his magic. The thorns vanished, but Bourne gave a shriek of rage. Not only did this man invade his mind, he had interfered. He suddenly had at his command a magic that he hadn't known was there. The manacles vanished, the bodyguards were stunned before they could react, and Bourne attacked Holmes, starting to manually strangle him before exerting his will instead, and killing him in the same way that Bellamy had sometimes killed. Holmes was dead, and Bourne lost his rage, and collapsed, sobbing. What had he done? He was a murderer. They'd put him in prison.

In a prison call, days later, he suddenly realised that he'd used strong and deliberate magic, without a wand, in a way that only the great wizard could do. His wand had been confiscated, of course, but he made the experiment, and tried to perform a minor magical action. He tried harder and harder, but was the same as every other witch or wizard. He needed his wand.

Two days after Bellamy returned, he was galloping a tall chestnut mare on the moors. Dobes loped at his heels. Bellamy was happy. He seemed to others quite clear-minded, though he shrank away from thinking about things too much, and still would not apparate. Within himself, he knew that he was a long way from truly well, and that his current content was a shallow thing, without foundation.

At the house, a conference was going on. All the Barnes were consulted, and then they spoke to old Caradoc, who had such a wisdom. They didn't know whether the boss was stable enough for a trial, but Caradoc pointed out that they didn't have the right to make decisions for him. Bellamy's expert testimony could be vital to the defence of his young relative.

Bellamy looked at the letter they gave him when he returned, Archie and Ursula waiting as he read it. But he didn't even tremble. He just said in a matter-of-fact tone that it was a long time since he'd been in a courtroom, and then asked Archie to arrange it for him, as he thought he'd been supposed to be spell-breaking that day. Archie was still doing all those arrangements, although he consulted Bellamy these days, no longer simply telling him what he was to do.

The week before Christmas, Bellamy combed his hair out loose, instead of using the casual pony tail, remembered his glasses, and donned more formal wear than his usual jeans and casual shirt. He wanted to look as fully as possible the great wizard, so that Bourne would be freed. To his way of thinking, a person who had just undergone the telepathic cure was not responsible for his actions any more than was an ex-pumpkin-head.

And in the big and impressive courtroom later that day, in front of the great wizards and witches of the Wizemgamot, the greatest wizard of them all, told them that. And he told them that he himself had been attacked numerous times after performing the telepathic cure, even though he suspected he was probably better at it than Holmes had ever been. One who had nearly killed him had even been later elected to the Wizemgamot himself, an honour only given to those most respected. Sidney Bourne, sitting as proudly impassive as he could manage throughout the trial, was freed, and afterwards collapsed, crying, in the arms of his mother.

The reporters very much wanted to interview Bellamy, but Bellamy never gave interviews, and was grateful to Ryde, Jed and Alexander who surrounded him, not allowing any near. Photographs were taken, and his bearing and competent testimony temporarily silenced the whispers of dementia.

Christmas passed very quietly for Bellamy. Even though some around him thought him almost recovered, he chose not to apparate, did no socialising at all, and talked more to the animals around than he ever did to humans. Young Peter had taken a great fancy to him, and was often at his heels as he wandered about the estate. He spent a lot of time at the Old Horses' Paddock, talking to his friends from years back, and telling Peter their history.

He took little interest in the young horses, and Beau found no interference in his breeding plans. He'd been home almost two months, but hardly any of his family had yet seen him. There was no chance for them to display new babies, but also he didn't see the ones he knew ageing. No-one told him about the deaths that occurred. He was being protected.

After the courtroom incident, the witch, Spectra McFiddan, made a decision that Bellamy most definitely had to die as soon as possible. She had an inside source of information, Nathan Bagster, now forty-five, still an auror. The great wizard had actually been in a mental institution when discovered. It was apparent he was getting better, but right now, he might still be vulnerable. Spectra had defeated the best aurors, and she thought she could defeat Bellamy. It was either kill the great wizard, or choose exile, as some others had already done.

Two weeks later, in Germany, where Bellamy's services always seemed to be needed, Spectra and her supporters waited in ambush. Bellamy had no feeling of danger, and was not alerted by the feeling of tension from those who lurked.

Three Death Curses were sent from behind, to account for Jed, Alexander, and Bellamy. Bellamy heard the beginning syllables of the Death Curse, as he'd heard many times before in his life, and whirled to face his attackers. Three spells vanished into thin air, and two wizards dropped, stunned. Spectra was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to disapparate.

Jed and Alexander had their wands out, ready to arrest her. Bellamy turned to them, and said, very politely, "Excuse me, I'd like to deal with this one myself. You can arrest the wizards, though."

They looked at each other, confused. Jed started to tie the fallen wizards, but Alexander kept his wand raised, holding Spectra covered.

Bellamy walked to Spectra, and stopped right in front of her. She stared at him, defiant, courageous. "You're Family," he stated, "I can feel it."

"Not that _I _know of," she snarled at him.

Alexander started to move, behind him. Bellamy was their responsibility to defend, not their commander. Bellamy raised a hand, and just in case the aurors took no notice of this gesture of restraint, a red line was traced around them. Now Bellamy and Spectra could not be interfered with.

"Who's your mother?" he asked quietly.

When Spectra raised her chin, and said nothing, he repeated the question with a touch of magic. "Who's your mother?"

She answered this time, and Bellamy shook his head. "I know no-one of that name, and yet you feel like family."

Spectra snarled at him, "No way I'd be related to you, muggle lover. You're not even pure-blood yourself, are you?"

Bellamy grinned. She had courage, this woman, and instead of killing her, or handing her over to the aurors, he spoke to her for a few minutes, quietly, commandingly, and with magic. Then he stepped back, and suggested she disapparate. Disbelievingly, she raised her wand, wanting to attack again, but discovered she could not. She raised her head instead, shook out long, black hair in a proud and defiant gesture, and was gone. And she went in silence. Not many could apparate silently.

After the effortless defeat of Spectra McFiddan, the crime wave the Auror Department had been battling for years, diminished drastically. The great wizard was useful to have around. They asked him, of course, what he'd done to McFiddan, and he explained that it was just a magical command, easily enough broken normally, provided it was known that it was there, but of course, this was his own magic. One said severely that she should have been handed over to the aurors for trial, but Bellamy only shrugged. She was a woman, and family. She would never hurt anyone again, and she had to make restitution, as much as possible, using her own fortune to spread among her victims. And each time she found a need to do that, he suspected it would make her very angry. He smiled to himself. The witch was punished.

***chapter end***


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 2/ __Chapter 5_

The young aurors were looking at him very differently these days. They knew that he could break spells that no-one else could, of course, and that was the main reason he was needed. But having been in the position almost of nursemaids, they had started to feel some contempt for him. Now they'd seen him in the courtroom, displaying the bearing of the great wizard he was, and now they'd seen him fight, in a way that no-one else had ever been able to fight. Most of them had seen his 'strong magic' by now, also.

Later that week, still in Germany, Graham commented on a patient done that day. "It was only a Boils Curse. I thought it must have been a mistake, like those ones in Russia years ago. But it wasn't."

Bellamy was reading a paper. He mostly wore his glasses these days, and this time, he made a casual comment. "It was my own spell. He must have tried to attack me at some stage."

Gareth leapt to attention. "Why didn't you tell us? He should have been arrested."

Bellamy said vaguely that he didn't know. They quizzed him further. He seemed to think that it might have been about six months before.

"In Australia, then?" Gareth asked, surprised. "Enemies found you in Australia?"

Bellamy was more vague than ever. He didn't think it was in Australia.

Unusually, Gareth was persistent. Patrick was watching closely, feeling that Bellamy should not be upset. Graham, too. Gareth was a trained and experienced interrogator, but Bellamy was defeating him. He was looking increasingly vague, staring at the walls, and finally getting up to leave. Gareth asked him to please stay, to please sit down. Bellamy sat down, and Gareth finally got an answer from him. "I think it might have been here. I wanted to be alone and slipped the aurors."

Gareth frowned. "You were spell-breaking, then?" Again he asked how long ago it had been.

Bellamy thought he knew this one, and said with confidence, "About six months ago."

Gareth said slowly, deliberately, "It's been over fourteen years since last you did spell-breaking in Germany." Bellamy nodded, and started reading his paper again.

There was a conference that Friday afternoon, after Archie took Bellamy home. Graham, Gareth, Patrick, Tom, Kate and Deirdre. Bellamy's apparent recovery was an illusion, Graham concluded, and the fact that he refused to apparate, in spite of encouragement, was a good indication that he knew it himself. Bellamy continued to be protected. Deaths were concealed from him, and Patrick or Fred continued to travel with the team. Archie and Ursula were in full agreement, and cooperated. Bellamy's fragile peace of mind was protected.

After some cold weather in early February, there was a thaw. Peter was provided with a pony by his fond 'Uncle Beau,' and started to learn to ride. Bellamy was interested, and leaned against the fence, watching. Dobes leaned against his side, and there were a couple of cats close to him. The animals never seemed to worry that he wasn't right in the head. After a few lessons on the quiet pony, Peter was confident enough to ride in company, not even on a leading rein.

The following Saturday, Simon suggested to Bellamy that he might like to ride over to visit Bridon and Diane Pickering with them, since they lived so close. Bellamy was surprised, "Are they still alive?"

Simon answered rather crossly, "Of course. They're not that old, hardly older than I am!"

Bellamy turned vague, and looked away. "Sorry."

Simon was seventy-two, Bridon ten years older, though Diane was younger.

Simon saddled Peter's pony, and a horse for himself. Bellamy was still hovering close. It seemed he wanted to go but was doubtful of his welcome after Simon's crossness. Simon was sorry for him. This was the boss, and looked now so unsure of himself. He said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Will I saddle Jesse for you?"

Bellamy smiled, relieved, "I don't like saddles," but he turned and whistled for his horse, who came to him. Simon attached a piece of rope to the mare's halter as reins, an unnecessary aid to Bellamy, but something was needed in case they were seen by medj.

Peter mounted neatly, Simon smiling his approval. He was a bit stiff, himself, as he pulled himself into the saddle, but Bellamy leapt to his seat with the vigour of athletic youth. It was only a short way to the next door property, and the horses only walked, trotting just the short way down the drive. Peter rose to the trot in another newly learned skill. Bellamy seemed to simply flow with the horse.

It was a fine day, and mares and half-grown foals nibbled the grass, still scanty after the cold days of winter. Bridon and Diane were very pleased to see Bellamy, although the Barnes family were frequent visitors. Diane had grown up on Bellamy's place, and now gave him a hug, and introduced him to her younger son, Paul, soon to be eighteen, and working with them. His older brother had left the area, but Paul loved the horses, and wanted one day, not too soon, to himself take over the property and the stud.

They showed him their prize exhibit, a three year old colt, destined to be their new stallion. Bellamy caressed the magnificent creature. Bridon, watching him, suddenly asked, "Would you like to ride him?"

It was to the horror of the attendant. The black colt was a spirited animal, and had never been trained to accept the saddle. But Bellamy turned a wide smile to Bridon, and when Jimmy put his objections, Bridon told him confidently, "Just watch!" And Jimmy watched as Bellamy leapt onto the back of the horse, and cantered around the paddock. And then there was a suggestion, and the horse was rearing, bucking and plunging, to the apparent glee of his rider, who had not the slightest difficulty in staying on his back, and laughed his delight. Simon was pleased. It had been so long since he'd seen the boss play like this. The young ones, both Paul and Peter, watched, mouths agape.

The following week, Spain. Bellamy had the same five aurors he mostly had, as well as Gareth and Patrick. He appeared alert and competent, although they took no risks, and representations from the Spanish that they should be allowed to meet the great wizard, maybe at dinner, were denied. He was unpredictable, and the British Ministry didn't want him to betray himself.

Bellamy was alarmed when Therese and Katrina went into action, arresting two wizards who were trying to organise for his meal to be poisoned. When he heard, he fussed, running a shaking hand over his forehead, and insisting that his girls should not be doing dangerous things. But Therese and Katrina were aurors, and made a very efficient team, which was why they nearly always worked together. Jed was close, and had been doing some reading. There was a lot written about the great wizard, including his early history. He queried, "Wasn't your first wife an auror?"

Bellamy looked to a place next to Jed, and smiled, suddenly calm. "Ginny was an auror, but she gave it up."

Ginny smiled and nodded at him, and Bellamy smiled back. Rather nervously, Jed glanced at the place Bellamy looked, and then asked, "Did she give it up because you told her it was too dangerous?"

Bellamy replied, "She gave it up because she thought she might be sent against me one day." He added. "I didn't know then, but that's why Margaret and Vicky gave up their ambition to be aurors, too."

Patrick relaxed in a chair opposite. Even often silent, abstracted, Bellamy was winning the affection of the young aurors.

Jed was making the most of this opportunity. He was very interested, and Bellamy was talking more than usual. "Were you so lawless, then, that you could have been arrested?"

Bellamy shook his head. "I hardly ever killed anybody." And he smiled again. "I was terribly respectable for a while, even a member of the Wizemgamot."

Jed persisted. "Then why might aurors have been sent against you?"

Bellamy shrugged. "The Ministry does that now and then. They think I should be locked up."

Patrick knew more than Jed knew. "They tried to lock him up twice when he was seventeen, also when he was twenty-four, when he was in his fifties, and then attacked him again ten years or so later."

"Was that when you were convicted of unlawful killing?"

Bellamy was getting tired of the questioning, and rose from his chair. "Going for a walk," he said, and Jed had to go with him. Bellamy always walked fast, and Jed soon had no breath left to resume the questioning. And when he started asking questions again, Bellamy only treated him to one of his vague and utterly frustrating stares.

That night, Bellamy woke with a scream of terror. His nightmare of confinement was much more specific than usual. The Ministry had him, drugged and helpless, confined because he was crazy. He emerged from his room, as the aurors had come to expect he might now and then. The girls were guarding his door, insensibly reassuring. Family wouldn't do that to him. But he still trembled as he walked. He walked for a long time that night, and was tired in the morning.

He was more vague in the morning, too. He forgot his wand, and someone had to be sent back for it. Then at morning tea, he started heading toward the sea, and had to be reminded that he was supposed to be working. He swam after work. As usual, everyone else thought it far too cold. But the water made him feel better, and Graham noticed that he seemed more relaxed. There had been several trembling attacks that day, though the work had gone perfectly smoothly.

At dinner, the aurors were talking about the funeral. Bellamy didn't like funerals, and maybe he, too, felt he needed to be protected. He didn't ask, and no-one told him.

It was only the following evening, he heard more. "A full Auror's Funeral, of course, since he died on duty, even though it was only a heart attack."

Bellamy stared at Alexander, who had spoken, and looked down. The words came out in spite of himself. "Who?" No-one answered him, but he spoke again, himself. "Tom," and his words re-awoke the sea of pain that he carried inside him. Tom was his great grandson, who had become old and died, as everyone around him became old and died. He stared blindly into the distance, tears running down his face. Therese sat beside him, and held him, but he didn't appear to notice. She, too, would become old, and die. He was alone, and would always be alone. After an hour, when he sat staring into the distance, trembling, and with tears on his face, Graham brought him a steaming potion, and instructed him to drink. And when Graham made a test, that most responsive of measures, the Nisco LV, showed a decisive drop.

One more day's work, and then they were to go home the following morning. Bellamy's confusion seemed to have made a resurgence, and he accepted the guidance of the aurors without demur. At the end of the day, Graham said with a sigh of relief, "Finished!"

Bellamy looked at him. Finished. He started walking. Three hours later, he still walked, Jed and Alexander with him, but being ignored. They remembered Gareth's words. He was not a prisoner, and could walk if he chose. But they were beginning to suspect this was not just a walk. They called Gareth, and he and Patrick both apparated close. Jed and Alexander dropped back, and Patrick and Gareth took up station either side of Bellamy. He didn't appear to notice.

Patrick touched his shoulder. "Would you mind walking a little slower, Bellamy? Gareth's getting on a bit." Gareth made a face. He wasn't nearly as old as white-haired Patrick. But Bellamy slowed down, and after a little, came to a halt, looking around blindly.

"You can't run away every time someone dies," said Patrick, in a matter-of-fact voice. Bellamy still stared in the direction he'd been going, and tears again ran down his face. He was a pitiful object, and his friends felt pity. But he had to come back. He was irreplaceable, and besides, he couldn't look after himself.

He had no nightmares that night. Instead, he fretted and muttered unhappily in his dreams, talking to Ginny, talking to Luna and to Julie. They didn't think how he felt. It was so lonely when everyone died.

Bellamy's friends at home were dismayed to see his deterioration. Again, he wandered in a daze, and talked to no-one. The tall gates were closed, though not locked, except at night. He was not to be a prisoner, of course, but was less likely to wander off the property if there was no inviting driveway beckoning him. Dobes stayed closer to him than ever, nuzzling him now and then. She knew he was distressed, though to humans it was mostly shown now in an increasing vagueness.

Archie and Ursula were at Tom's funeral, and used the opportunity to consult with Graham, and Tom's second in command. It was decided that work was to continue. Even when most vague, he could still work his miracles. The four months of work he'd done since his return, was a long way short of making up for fourteen years' absence.

In Sweden, Austria, Switzerland, a week's work in London, then France, he stayed the same. The clouds of confusion had returned, and again the aurors managed him with tactful guidance, and occasionally the firm voice which he always now obeyed. Manfred was awarded the position again as head of the Auror Department. He was no longer worried that it would be necessary for Bellamy to be put down. He was useful still, obedient, and there was also the evidence that he'd wandered the world alone, for years, and hurt nobody.

Graham recommended that Therese and Katrina Abercrombie be replaced, as he thought they disturbed Bellamy. A young auror called Jason Brodbeck was rostered, to his pleasure, as he'd always wanted to work with the legendary figure. There was also Nathan Bagster, Bellamy's refusal to work with him years before, having been forgotten.

Bellamy looked vaguely at the team that gathered that Monday, and thought that it was as he'd feared, Therese and Katrina had become old and died. Family and friends always became old and died. He wouldn't know people any more, and the aurors found that he no longer addressed them by name, and quite often acted as if they were not there at all.

Competently, Nathan and Jason joined the team that looked after Bellamy. Fred was now mostly with them these days, Gareth still in charge.

At home, the weather was warmer, and his staff were not so disturbed when they found that Bellamy had spent a part of the night sleeping outside, usually in the Old Horses' paddock, although once curled up against the locked gates, which was worrying.

It took a few weeks before Nathan had his opportunity. He was the only night guard, as most of the aurors were sick with a tummy bug, actually a mild poisoning. It was to be a quick knife thrust into the sleeping man, a disapparation, and wealth for the rest of his life. Arrangements had been made. There were no ties at home that could not be cut, and he'd had his eyes on this reward for a very long time.

Bellamy was clearly visible in the dim light from the wide open window. He lay prone, his blankets thrust away, wearing only sleeping shorts. He'd been muttering earlier, as Nathan had heard, listening from outside the room, but now he lay deeply asleep. Nathan held the long and very sharp knife ready. There was an old knife scar already curving down the ribs of the sleeping man, although the more faint scar next to it was not quite visible in the poor light.

Nathan still hesitated. Bellamy waited, unmoving. Nathan stepped back, and put away his knife, silently backing away. Bellamy heard his door open and close, and turned on his back. Why not? And after a little, tears began trickling down his face. Nathan had been going to do it for him, even though he wasn't allowed to do it himself. Why hadn't he done it?

An hour later, Nathan, back on guard outside, again heard the distressed muttering of Bellamy's sleep. He was defending himself. Ginny was accusing, and Luna was judging. Bellamy spoke aloud, suddenly, quite clearly, "You never said I couldn't let someone else do it!" Nathan flinched. He'd heard enough of Bellamy's dreams to know what he argued about. Had he been awake then, when Nathan hovered over him, knife in hand?

***chapter end***


	19. Chapter 19

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

Book 8/Part 2.

_Chapter 6_

They were home early the week they worked Holland, Thursday afternoon, rather than Friday, even with the extra patients from other countries that usually filled the last day or two. Early Friday morning, Beau noticed that Bellamy's mare, Jesse, was missing. Frowning, he checked the other horses. Jacko was gone, too. He paused, thinking, then went to the shed where the feed was stored. He was pretty sure that feed had been taken, as well as two horse blankets, and possibly a couple of other items. He reckoned the boss had cleared out, even though he was quite obviously totally incapable of looking after himself.

The aurors found him close to noon of the second day of his absence, his two horses walking peacefully along a country lane, a large dog with them. The dog barked, and Bellamy murmured to her, but if Bellamy saw the aurors, he took no notice. A couple of hours later, mid afternoon, young Paul Pickering joined him, just riding along with him on his own horse. Paul had been carefully briefed. He was not to try and exercise any control over Bellamy, just stay with him, and maybe after a while, he could be gently led home.

"Like straying stock?" Paul said, raising an eyebrow.

Patrick was offended. _"Not_ like straying stock." His friend was just a bit lost right now, he thought sadly.

Bellamy spoke not a word to Paul as they rode side by side. For a long time, Paul even wondered if he'd registered his presence. It became late, and Paul was eighteen, with the healthy appetite of an eighteen-year-old, but Bellamy showed no sign of stopping.

At dusk, Bellamy rode off the road where an open area led down to a stream. The horses were watered and fed. Dobes was fed. Paul quietly tended to his own horse. Then Bellamy sat with his back to a tree, and stared at the night.

Paul was restless. What were they doing for dinner? He'd been equipped with plenty of money, but there were no shops here, and it appeared very much as if Bellamy had only thought to provide for his horses and his dog.

After a while, still without a word to Paul, Bellamy wrapped himself in the cape he wore, curled up under his tree, and slept. It was as if he was invisible, Paul thought resentfully. He checked his own backpack that his mother had provided for him. One thin picnic rug. A change of underwear. No provisions. But then he found a few food bars, and ate them with relief, washed down with some water from the stream. He pulled out his wand, conjured himself a few blankets, but knew that they were unlikely to last the night. Only Bellamy's conjures lasted very long, every one else's vanished, abruptly and unpredictably.

He lay down to sleep. Three hours later, only the picnic rug that his mother had provided was still in existence, and Paul, still restlessly asleep, was shivering. Warm, thick blankets were laid over him, and the youth pulled them to him with relief, and sank into a much deeper sleep.

In the morning, Paul watched admiringly as Bellamy ran casual fingers over his face, and the slight swarthiness of cheeks and chin, vanished. He suspected his clothes may have been cleaned by magic as well, though he'd stripped and washed himself in the cold water of the small stream. Thinking he'd best not be outdone, Paul gave himself a quick wash too, and used his wand to clean his clothes. He looked at the thick blankets he'd been provided with, wondering what to do with them, but they vanished in front of his eyes. Bellamy hadn't used a wand, and Paul stared, before remembering he'd heard of this. He was the only one, but the great wizard didn't need a wand to work magic.

Bellamy was talking to his horses, talking to his dog, and Paul said suddenly, resentfully, "You could talk to me, too, you know!" But Bellamy's eyes passed over Paul as if he didn't see him. And yet, later, when Paul said he had to stop a moment, and go behind a tree, Bellamy slipped off his horse too, and waited.

Mid morning, they passed through a small village. Paul stopped his horse, and Bellamy was quite sure that he could see his nostrils quivering.

"Wait here!" Paul ordered. "I'll get us some food."

Bellamy nodded, and reached for his own wallet. Paul watched, and then accused, incredulous, "You forgot your wallet!" He continued, "No provisions for yourself, no money - how long were you intending to travel again?"

Bellamy looked vague, "I don't know."

Paul said reassuringly, "Mum gave me lots of money, and told me to look after you. Stay here, I'll bring us some food."

Bellamy slipped off his horse, and waited with the three horses and the large dog, in the town square, quietly vanishing some dung when it became necessary.

The pair ate hungrily, enjoying a meal of greasy fish and chips, washed down with soft drink.

"Where are we going?" asked Paul. With a full stomach, he was beginning to enjoy this unusual journey.

"West," said Bellamy, "Then south."

"West, then south," said Paul mockingly. "You _do _make detailed plans, don't you?"

Bellamy almost smiled. The boy wasn't treating him with the tactful gentleness he'd become accustomed to.

That night, Paul shared out some provisions that he'd bought, and watched as Bellamy conjured a mattress, a pillow, then warm blankets. But Bellamy then just wrapped himself in his cape again, and lay down under the nearest tree. Paul looked from his own comfortable bed, to where Bellamy lay with no comforts at all.

"Why don't you make a bed for yourself?" he demanded.

Bellamy didn't answer. It was because crazy men weren't allowed to work magic, but Paul was tricking him into acknowledging his existence, and if he did that, then Paul would get old and die. He so hated people getting old and dying.

Sunday, Paul gave up trying to get Bellamy to talk to him, instead he used him as a listening post, and told him all about his own hopes and ambitions. Riding along gently together, Jacko trailing along behind, Paul talked. It was Monday, though, before he started talking about Helena. She was a muggle, Paul said, and Dad said he should look for a witch.

"A medj!" Bellamy said. "Not muggle. Muggle is a word that contains contempt in its very sound. Medj or Medjkind, as opposed to Wizardkind!"

They were the first words that Bellamy had spoken in several miles. Paul looked at him with surprise, "You don't think it would be wrong to marry a woman not a witch, then?"

Bellamy glanced at him. "Of course it's not wrong! This notion about pure breeding is really very irksome!" And then he added, "I guess I've been away too long, I would have taught you better if I were still a Professor!"

Paul said, boasting, "The Pickerings can trace their pure ancestry back over a thousand years!"

Bellamy said, "My mother's parents were Medjkind, and those who knew her said she was a warm and sympathetic person, which is a lot more important than being Pure-blood!"

Paul was silent for a while, then, turning over his words in his mind, and thinking again about Helena. He was beginning to miss her. He wondered how long this journey would last, although it would be something to tell his children and grandchildren.

Towns and villages were frequent enough for Paul to provide them both with at least one hot meal a day, and Bellamy accepted the meals with thanks, but no other comment..

Wednesday morning, as Bellamy again washed himself, this time in sea-water, Paul asked him, "How long are we going to be travelling like this?"

Bellamy replied, "The aurors'll come for me soon, I expect."

Paul asked, "How will they know where we are?"

"They've been watching us."

Paul looked around, surprised, "Have they?"

Bellamy looked at him, smiling slightly, "Didn't you know?"

Paul was looking a bit of a vagabond now, unshaven, and hair unwashed. Bellamy looked much the same as always, even his hair looking as if recently washed. "Go to Simon or Naomi when you get back, they'll pay you back for what I've cost."

Paul said, "If I hadn't paid for meals, would you have gone back?"

Bellamy shrugged, "Probably not. I always manage somehow."

Paul said, grinning, "You'd best remember your wallet when you decide to clear out next time."

Bellamy frowned, troubled. He reached down to touch Dobes, who liked to press close. He wondered again why Nathan hadn't done what he'd been meaning to do. It had been easier as they travelled, an undemanding life. And the clouds of confusion had receded a little. But the aurors would come for him.

That afternoon, the three horses walked to where a large horsebox waited. Patrick, Gareth, and Jed also waited. They had their fingers crossed, but Paul led Bellamy straight to them, and Bellamy slipped off his horse, spoke gently to the dog, and allowed them to take him to London, and then fly him to Sweden for the next week's work, a few days delayed.

Ursula had packed for him, even remembering to send his wand, and glasses, neither of which he had with him. Graham insisted on a full examination the moment they arrived at the hotel, and was surprised to find an improvement rather than a deterioration in several indicators, even an improvement in weight, in spite of the erratic lifestyle he'd enjoyed the previous few days.

It was the same luxury hotel they'd always used. For Bellamy, it was a significant place, where significant events happened. There had been a return to work, still in a wheelchair after a crippling illness, and there had been his first meeting with his sixteen-year-old son, Helmer Roos. There had been other things, too. Now there was pleasure in the indoor pool, the spa and the gymnasium, all of which he enjoyed that evening, under the eyes of Nathan and Alexander, whom he scarcely acknowledged.

Thursday, it was back to the routine. They were to work all week, including the weekend to make up for the late start, and then without a break to Austria. Bellamy did as he was told, but otherwise took not the slightest notice of the aurors, even when Nathan was stationed behind him. But Nathan had decided that he had a good life as it was, and if he didn't have to go away because he'd murdered his charge, then he could marry Kirstin, and have a family.

When Archie brought Bellamy home after the week in Austria, there were some changes. All the riding horses were gone, even a couple of the younger ones from the Old Horses' Paddock. Peter's small pony remained, mares with foals, and four others that were very old indeed. The tall gates were now locked all the time, holes under the high fences had been filled in, and the aurors, Therese and Katrina Abercrombie were on duty, day and night. There were two other aurors, also related to Bellamy, who took turns guarding the gate. The secrecy of Bellamy's home had been compromised, but at least Manfred was keeping knowledge of its whereabouts, as much as possible, within the family.

For someone who was not a prisoner, Bellamy appeared to have very little freedom. He was watched whenever he was out of doors, especially when he went close to the boundary of the property. They were not sure whether he noticed. He didn't appear to see the newcomers around the place, and only spoke to horses, dogs and cats.

Around the lunch table Saturday, several of the staff were assembled. Paul had ridden over, too, hoping to see the silent man who had somehow become a friend anyway. Josie was complaining. "It's as if we're just objects! He never looks at me, even when I've gone to a lot of trouble to make him a nice meal."

Sybil said, "He thanks you, doesn't he?"

"Yes," answered Josie, "But that's all! I don't think he even knows who I am!"

Caradoc was there, although Clare was off somewhere with her easel. And it was Caradoc who did some explaining. "I'm quite sure he knows exactly who you are," he said to Josie. "His trouble is that he cares about people too much, and now you're a part of his family, as much as anyone here. And now he's frightened that you'll leave him, as all his old friends leave him."

Josie protested, "I'm not going to leave him."

Naomi explained. "He thinks you'll get old and die, as your grandparents did."

Josie was silent. She hadn't quite comprehended how old Bellamy was.

Paul had said hello to Bellamy, but Bellamy's gaze had passed over him, and his greeting had been unacknowledged. Paul asked Caradoc, hopefully, "Do you think he cares about me?"

Caradoc smiled at him, "Didn't you tell me he conjured you blankets the first night, even before he spoke to you?"

Paul nodded, and Caradoc continued. "He doesn't use magic these days, he thinks it's too risky for a crazy man, but he used magic for you."

Paul smiled with relief. Somehow it was important to him that Bellamy should care about him.

Sunday, Bellamy wandered into Naomi's office, and asked that she give him a lot of money, cash, European and American currencies. Wizard gold was not required. Naomi looked at the boss, and filled his wallet for him. It was his own money, of course. Bellamy was a very wealthy man. The cash had been intended to pay some bills in the local village, but they could wait. "I'll have more American dollars for you next week," she said. "I'm afraid there's not much in the house."

Bellamy thanked her, and started to leave, but Naomi told him to wait, and took him to Beau's office. Beau had been sorting mail, and she pointed out the large pile of thank you letters, "Not just for the spell-breaking," she said, "People are writing to thank you for the return of law and order."

He looked a question, and she answered. "Some dark wizards have fled, others have gone quiet, you dealt with Spectra personally, and now that the aurors are less hard pressed, they've managed to overcome others. The courts have been busy for months."

Bellamy half-smiled, "Good."

Naomi wasn't sure that he thought it of great importance, so she took him to the kitchen instead and Josie gave him an ice-cream. He liked ice-creams. He went outside again, then, and Katrina kept an eye on him as he walked around the large building that had been used for Quidditch.

It looked like he'd taken Paul's advice, Naomi thought. He wouldn't forget his wallet next time. She was sure that he'd be gone again before long. She didn't tell the aurors that he now carried a very large amount of money, although she told Simon.

The following Monday, at the Ministry building, Patrick and Gareth, supervised by Manfred, led Bellamy to a large room where fourteen aurors were assembled. These were the aurors who had been pumpkin-heads, rescued only a few days after he returned to the wizarding world. Only one had been dead. They wanted Bellamy to know how valuable he was. They explained carefully, that these were men and women whom he had saved. And those whom he had rescued shook his hand, one by one, and thanked him. Bellamy was unresponsive, saying nothing that meant anything, and as soon as the procession was finished, looked at Patrick with an appeal in his eyes, so that Patrick took it upon himself to return him to the transport bay where his team waited.

He was almost equally unresponsive not long later, when some of his family gained approval for a meeting with him in the Ministry building. They had to promise faithfully not to spread stories about his state of mind, and even then, only a few were allowed. Young Sidney Bourne finally had the opportunity to thank him in person, but he only showed emotion when a baby was placed in his hands, and a rare smile crossed his face. He touched the cheek of the tiny Abercrombie, and it was only that night that the baby's face came back to him, and he moaned in his sleep as the baby became old and died in front of his eyes.

Bellamy turned a hundred and forty-one. A few days later, he walked hard in the night, followed by aurors. They thought it prudent to appear to give him as much freedom as possible. But quite suddenly, it appeared, he was out of sight in the dark. They found him quickly enough, as there were location devices planted on him now. They told him he had to come back. He did as he was told.

Gareth joined Nathan and Jason later that night, and used his own eavesdropping device to listen to the sad noises of the tormented man in his restless sleep.

That Friday afternoon, Gareth argued to Kate, Deirdre and Manfred that Bellamy should be allowed to go. Manfred stated firmly that no-one was keeping him prisoner, and that he could go whenever he chose.

Gareth said sadly, "You know he can't act of his own will, he just does what he's told. He'd be better set free."

Kate made the point that, in the years he was wandering, he was tracked down three times, and each time, it was noted that he was half starved.

"He was happier though, I think," said Gareth.

The next week, when Archie brought Bellamy in for work, there was someone new in charge of the team. Dieter Roche had been recruited from Germany in the years before Bellamy's return. He was a solid man with mid brown hair, streaked grey. Neither Patrick nor Fred were to travel any more. Manfred said they were not needed, that Bellamy only needed firm handling.

Graham disagreed. He thought that the old men had helped Bellamy feel a little stability. But Graham had been over-ruled. When Manfred formally introduced the new team leader to Bellamy, a rare smile lit his face. "Franz!" he said. "Franz!"

Dieter tried to clarify, "Dieter," he said. "My name is Dieter."

A baffled look crossed the face of Bellamy, and he was silent. _The Great Wizard, _thought Dieter, with some irony and a lot of disappointment.

But a few days later, he watched as the great wizard called up the strong magic to heal a wizard that he said was inflicted with intermingled spells. Afterward, Bellamy looked around at Graham, Alexander and Dieter, all still pale, and a little dizzy from the power that had resonated in the air, and led out the patient himself. And then, without fanfare, an instant shield protected him from a Death Curse that had come at him from one of those in the waiting room. But while Jed placed that wizard under arrest, he went wandering off again, only just stopped from going swimming by Jason, who had to run to catch him.

They never knew how they eventually lost him. It was in Hungary, four weeks after Dieter took over from Gareth. The week's work was just finished, his cape and wand were left in the workroom, and, just suddenly, it seemed, he wasn't there. They knew he never apparated, and they knew he never used magic except for the spell-breaking. That was under orders, and in his confused mind, allowed. They found a few location devices behind a tree close to where they lost him. Maybe he wasn't far away. They searched, but discreetly. And when the news spread that work was cancelled, they said that it was only due to a mild illness, and that the great wizard would be working again shortly.

Dobes fretted for a few weeks, but then attached herself to Sybil, sleeping beside her bed every night, whether that was in her own bedroom, or that of Beau.

Bellamy very quickly forgot why he had to travel at night, and when he wandered into a labour exchange in Greece, several weeks later, and was asked his name, he gave the first name that came to him, 'Stuart Appleby.' Shortly after, he joined a work crew for some fruit picking. They thought he was simple, and looked after him a little, making sure he remembered to come in for meals, and that he didn't wander in the wrong direction after work. He'd lost his glasses.

***chapter end***


	20. Chapter 20

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

Book 8/Part 2.

_Chapter 7_

Bellamy was well cared for all through the summer and autumn. The first Greek farmer he worked for passed him on to a friend, and then there was another who needed extra labour. He was a good worker, happy to continue all day until someone told him to stop. They suspected that as long as he was provided with accommodation and meals, he wouldn't even notice whether or not he was paid. He was obviously simple, hardly spoke, and sometimes trembled for no reason. But he kept himself clean, and was young and goodlooking, with an innocent, unfocused gaze that tended to make people want to caress and reassure.

He no longer fretted in his sleep. The great pain within him had been pushed back, but the cost was a more clouded mind. He no longer knew who he was, or what he was, except that he still used his easy magic to keep himself cleanshaven, and sometimes to clean himself or his clothes. He did as he was told, and found some contentment again. His wives no longer nagged, but sometimes he'd see them, and they'd smile and nod.

In late autumn, he was taken shopping by the wife of his latest employer. She thought he needed new clothes, and helped him buy jeans, and then pointed him to some shirts, wincing as he selected the brightest possible from the rack. Carefully the new clothes were folded and put in the small backpack he liked to carry. And then she allowed him the treat of an ice-cream, pleased to give him pleasure. As she watched him, she wondered idly how far his obedience would go, and flushed as the picture came to her of him working bare-chested in the orchard. And maybe it was because of her own embarrassment at her thoughts, that she instructed him to wait for her as she did her own shopping.

An hour later, he still waited in a small park, where he'd been left. Policemen were apparently investigating some crime, because they were stopping people close. Bellamy rose from his seat, apparently without purpose, and faded from sight behind some shrubbery. Once lost, he had no idea how to return, though his employers had been kind to him. So he walked.

Months later, he walked along a country lane in Spain. Although winter now, the sun shone. He paused in delight. The mares and big foals were Andalusians, he knew it. And they were beautiful. He climbed the fence and talked to them. And he hugged an old white mare who looked at him with wisdom in her gaze. Her black colt was a bit small, as the mare was really too old for breeding, and had not been able to give him the nourishment he should have had, especially in those early months. Bellamy stayed in the paddock with the horses all day, lunching on a few slices of bread from a loaf he carried in his backpack.

In the misty, early morning, the owner of the horses did his routine check, and investigated further when he noticed that three horses had not risen to their feet at his approach. The young man was soaked through with the rain that had fallen in the night, but curled up sound asleep at the flank of the white mare. Her colt grazed nearby.

"What's this then?" Covas asked the mare quietly. The mare whickered very softly, blowing over the man. Bellamy didn't stir. To Covas, he looked rather pitiful, far too thin, and pale with the cold and wet. His small backpack lay nearby. Quietly, Covas looked into the backpack. A few clothes, and a nearly empty bread wrapper.

When he looked back, the young man was awake and blinking at him. He seemed dazed, and his gaze wandered. The white mare nudged him, and he scrambled to his feet.

Jorge Covas still stood, looking impressive in a thick raincoat, with a shoulder cape, and heavy boots. The stray backpacker wore cheap running shoes with holes in them, and they looked to be wet through too. On a sudden thought, Covas asked for a passport, and looked at it carefully as it was handed over. "Henry Bellamy," he said aloud, and he looked at the birthdate. Just twenty. A boy, really. He had papers, he was not an illegal immigrant. Bellamy had still not spoken.

"Do you want breakfast?" Covas asked, and Bellamy gave a wide smile. It seemed that breakfast was a good thought.

"A little work first," Covas said, and Bellamy helped him as ordered as he went about tending to his livestock.

Isabel Covas was surprised that her husband had apparently taken pity on the trespasser. Knowing her husband, she would have rather thought that he'd be sent off with a flea in his ear. She was even more surprised when Covas told the stray that he could stay a little while, and do some work in exchange for a room and meals.

A few weeks later, Covas handed him money, and Isabel took him to the small village close, and helped him buy a warm jacket, a cheap pair of boots, and a new pair of sneakers. Covas paid Bellamy regularly after that, only a small amount, but his needs were few. Bellamy was useful to him, not just that he helped with the work, but he had an almost magical communication with the horses. There were unbroken three year olds being prepared for sale, and Bellamy played with them, talked to them, and hopped, perfectly casually, onto their backs. Covas knew that he'd found a treasure, even when it quickly became obvious that he was somewhat retarded.

Through the winter, things went smoothly. Bellamy very soon knew each one of the fifteen mares, their young ones, and the young of previous years. Except for the fillies chosen for breeding, Covas kept few of his horses, selling them mostly as three year olds, although sometimes younger. He didn't keep a stallion, and his real business was his market garden. There was another worker, who supervised Bellamy, and found that he was able to take it easy himself, as the young man worked, perfectly happily, all day.

Early spring, and buyers started arriving for the three year olds. Bellamy could add a lot of money to the price of an unbroken colt when he was seen to hop on its bare back, and amble around. He didn't encourage them to buck and play, as somewhere in his memory, he knew that his play made it difficult for other riders.

Late spring, and it was time for the breeding mares to be sent to a stallion. Most of them had new foals at foot, and Bellamy had been invaluable there, too. Somehow the foaling always seemed to go easier when he was present.

The white mare had no new foal, and there was another, also, without a foal. They were too old for breeding, last year's colts had grown up, and Covas, as was his usual practice, decided that it was time for them to be put down. It was only practical, he thought, he couldn't afford to keep unproductive horses.

Bellamy was stunned when it dawned on him what was to happen. He protested, stammering and shaking as he tried to tell Covas that he couldn't do that, that it was not yet time. Covas flushed, and Bellamy felt the lash of his temper for the first time. Who was Bellamy to tell him what to do? Covas stalked away, still furious that the half-wit had forgotten his place. The mares were to be taken away the following day.

Bellamy stared after him, still trembling, and now with tears running down his face.

Bellamy's morning chores were completed well before sunrise, and it was only after a leisurely breakfast that Covas discovered that Bellamy was missing with the two old mares, and a little feed. Covas was very loud in his anger, and ignored his wife who reminded him how valuable Bellamy had been.

The local policeman, with Covas in the car with him, found Bellamy quite quickly, walking along the road, in company with the two old mares. The roaring farmer approached, and Bellamy stood protectively in front of the horses. The policeman watched, bemused, as the retarded boy defended the horses. He was vehement, but scarcely coherent at first, stammering through a dozen languages, before settling to Spanish, and explaining frantically that old horses were supposed to be coddled, that there should be an Old Horses' Paddock, and a warm shelter. That only when it was time should they be put down, and it was not time yet.

The farmer roared again, "What's a halfwit like you to tell me what to do?" The halfwit was violently trembling, and tears ran down his face, as he repeated again and again, that it was not time yet. The mares should be allowed to live until it was time.

The policeman touched the farmer on the shoulder, "Jorge?"

Covas had been trembling himself in his fury, but suddenly the anger died, and he took a deep breath. "All right," he said. "We'll make a retirement home for horses - but if I go broke, you realise you'll be out of a job!"

Bellamy didn't understand to begin with, and the policeman said, "You've won, boy! You've beaten Jorge Covas, and I've never seen him lose an argument yet!"

Bellamy questioned, "Boss?"

Covas nodded, "Yes, boy. We'll keep the mares." And Covas had to remind himself that he was a hard man, when the wide smile lit the face of the simple boy.

Work slackened off during the summer, and a neighbour thought that he could do with an extra labourer. Bellamy was sent to help him, but it was only when the two mares were given a place there that Bellamy stopped wandering off. They knew how to keep him then, and Covas shared him around, two old mares and the boy as a job lot. He was mostly treated well, but not always. At one place, the work gang thought it amusing to leave him to work every day as they went to lunch. And they tried to provoke him, at first with insults that he didn't seem to understand, and then with some fairly mild pushing and shoving. After the first few days, he stopped sleeping in the dormitory with the others, instead sleeping outside with his horses.

Isobel Covas was annoyed when he came back to them, again looking too thin. He would not be sent there again, and she complained to the employer. He was a good boy, if simple, and should be looked after.

Bellamy had been with Covas nearly three years, when the white mare became very poor. Covas was very relieved that Bellamy agreed that it was time. He was also surprised that Bellamy was perfectly prepared to stay with the mare as the job was done, as humanely as possible, and well away from the other horses that might have become upset. The other old mare was a few months later. Covas had quietly sold off a couple of other older mares while they were still good for a few foals. He didn't want a herd of old and useless mares consuming good food. He still thought of himself as a hard man.

Bellamy wasn't needed by Covas for a few months, and was sent to a racehorse trainer, who was temporarily short staffed. The other stable helpers thought it was funny when Bellamy couldn't find the room he'd been given, and curled up in the loose box with one of his charges instead. And the head lad found it very convenient that he was apparently perfectly prepared to hand over his pay packet on demand.

It was not until the third week that one of the other lads protested, and told Bellamy firmly that he shouldn't allow his paypacket to be stolen from him every week. Bellamy looked from one to the other in bewilderment. He was supposed to obey orders, and now he was getting conflicting orders.

"Give me the pay, Dopey!" said the head lad.

But Anton had been kind to him, and Anton told him that he should keep his pay, that no-one was allowed to take it from him. Uncertainly, Bellamy put it in his pocket.

Geraldo took a step toward him, and gave him a thump on the ribs. "Give me the pay!" he said again, with emphasis.

Bellamy looked at Anton. Anton said very firmly, "It's your pay, Henry, Keep your pay."

Geraldo thumped him again, but Bellamy turned to walk away. He wasn't allowed to fight, but maybe he should keep his pay, as Anton said he should.

Geraldo swore, and turned suddenly to Anton, hitting him. He was unprepared for the fist that took him on the cheek and knocked him to the ground. He stared at the halfwit in disbelief. "We'll have to teach you your place, Dopey," he said, dangerously, and instructed two of his offsiders to hold Dopey, as he turned to Anton.

Bellamy was trembling. He wasn't supposed to fight. He was a crazy man, and crazy men were not allowed to fight in case they hurt someone. His arms were now firmly held by two of the lads. Geraldo smiled at him slowly, and then turned to Anton. "You first, for interfering," and he quite slowly drew back his fist. The blow never landed, as Bellamy attacked.

Five minutes later, three men lay groaning on the ground. Bellamy looked around, worried and upset. He was not supposed to fight. His backpack landed in front of him. "You'd best go!" said the man. Bellamy picked up the backpack and started walking. Anton still stared in disbelief, but thought he'd best go, too, and went to his room to pack.

The racehorse trainer was treated to a blast of fury from Covas when he heard that the boy was gone. The trainer tried to defend himself. The boy had attacked three of his hands. Maybe he was not just retarded, but a dangerous lunatic. Covas snorted. He was just a poor, defenceless, simple-minded boy. And if he had been in a fight, Covas was quite sure that Bellamy had not been the aggressor.

Covas, who considered himself to be a hard man, was acutely anxious, and enlisted the aid of his policeman friend to search. Covas was sure his boy would starve by himself. But they greatly underestimated how far he would walk in a day, and he was not found.

***chapter end***


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

Book 8/Part 2.

_Chapter 8_

Bellamy walked. His wallet was still fat, as he'd worked continuously for three years, and spent little. He headed north again, into France. At a coastal town in France, he wandered through a market, and stopped with a smile of delight. He pointed to the material, in a vivid red-orange colour that he liked.

"What do you want it for?" asked the woman, when he didn't seem to know how much he needed.

"I like it!" answered the smiling, thin boy, with the innocent, unfocused look that alerted the woman that he was not quite normal. She smiled indulgently, and cut off half a metre, and wrapped it for him.

That evening, he unwrapped the package, and caressed the bright material for a while, before curling up near a tree in a park to sleep, still holding the length of material whose colour was the colour of happiness.

In the morning of the following day, he watched as a ferry brought passengers from Corsica. Close by, some laughing tourists boarded the ferry, followed, after a moment, by Bellamy. He'd go to Corsica.

Three months later, outside a small village, he worked with four other men preparing the ground for a new plantation of olive trees. They worked bare-chested, and were brown from the sun. Bellamy was known as Kim Prior.

One of the daughters of the boss spied on the men. Women wore long sleeves, high necklines, and long dresses in this rather primitive region, and no women worked with the men. Francesca's eyes particularly followed Bellamy. He stood out - almost hairless next to the others, his hair tied back in a long ponytail which made him seem a touch exotic, and with a beautiful body. There was a white scar that showed clearly on his back.

Gaston, the leader of the small work gang, saw her watching one day, and frowned. It was not conduct befitting a modest girl.

Francesca managed to organise herself a peephole to spy on the men as they showered, and was fascinated by the sight of the naked men. She almost giggled out loud at the oddity of pale bottoms, when the rest of their bodies were so deeply tanned. She confided her discoveries to her disapproving older sister, and Bianca was horrified at her sister's boldness, but as Francesca knew, she wouldn't tell.

Francesca Corot was just sixteen. Her parents thought they guarded their daughters carefully, and they were reared to make good wives. Their father already had his eye on a man who would suit Bianca, although Francesca was scarcely more than a child.

Francesca waited for Bellamy in his bedroom. The other men had gone into the town for the evening, but Bellamy was left. She had to tell him what she wanted, and he'd still been hesitant. Slowly, she stripped in front of him, and then slipped into his bed. She told him he had to take off all his clothes. He had a trembling attack, more from indecision that anything else. She looked at him avidly. She wanted to touch and explore. He did as she told him, but showed no evidence of excitement, which might have frightened her off. But Francesca didn't know what she should expect. She instructed him to turn off the light and get into bed with her.

Francesca had what she wanted, although she'd been utterly shocked at that first hurt. She'd thought stories of pain and blood the first time was just a story used to ensure the chaste behaviour of girls. But somehow the pain was swiftly forgotten, and a wild excitement took over.

Bellamy thought it was all right. He'd done as he was told, and sex was good. It had been so long - he'd forgotten. Francesca was happy afterward. She kissed him, and whispered that they'd do it again, because she thought she liked it.

She giggled when she told Bianca later. "It was like he didn't know what to do - and then he did!" Bianca was appalled at her sister's wanton behaviour, and still she didn't tell her mother.

Every evening, shortly after dinner, Francesca went to his room. Bellamy still scarcely spoke, but was looking light-hearted, smiling more often, even laughing once at someone's joke. Gaston had his suspicions about what was happening, but didn't know what to do, and kept quiet.

There had only been four occasions, four evenings, before Francesca's mother spotted her younger daughter emerging from his room. She waited until the following day, when Bellamy went to work, and then checked the neatly made bed. There were bloodstains on the bottom sheet. For hours she worried, before finally telling her husband. He had to be told.

The small, pot-bellied man knew a cold rage. His little girl had been violated. He made a couple of calls, and his two grown up sons arrived. And then he picked up his whip.

Bellamy turned an innocent gaze to Corot when he approached, whip in hand, and flanked by his two sons. Gaston sent off the other helpers with a brief command to get out of sight. He had a shrewd idea what it was all about.

Bellamy frowned in puzzlement when two husky young men grabbed his arms. Corot raised his whip threateningly. He wanted Bellamy to admit that he'd raped his girl. But his furious words were in the dialect of Corsica, and Bellamy didn't know Corsu.

He turned his bewildered look to Gaston, who used French. "He asks if you went to bed with Francesca."

Totally without guile, Bellamy said that he had. There was a furious exclamation, and the whip came hissing across his chest. Bellamy gave a cry of pain, as did one of those holding him, and the short man was stunned to discover that in a surprising and very fast move, Bellamy had taken the whip from him. The brothers stepped back in shock at the abrupt turnaround.

Bellamy now held the whip. He stood, staring at the man whose anger grew only more overwhelming. The Corsican he spoke became even more unintelligible to Bellamy as he raved. He turned to Gaston. "I don't understand. Why is he angry?" Gaston explained that it was because Bellamy had gone to bed with his daughter. Bellamy agreed that he'd gone to bed with his daughter, and asked again why he was so angry.

Corot understood French, although in his fury, the ability to speak it seemed to have deserted him. He spat a command to one of his sons. Gaston was trying to explain to Bellamy that girls were supposed to be pure, that honourable men never had sex with young girls.

"She asked me to," said Bellamy, still confused, and looked toward the house where Ansel Corot dragged a sobbing Francesca toward them. Her hair was disarranged, and her cheek showed a livid mark where it had been slapped.

"He made me do it," she was moaning. "It was his fault."

Corot ignored the whip that Bellamy still held in his hands, and faced him furiously, though from a prudent distance. "You raped my little girl! You've ruined her for marriage - and what if you've got her pregnant?"

Bellamy was beginning to understand that he really had done something terrible. What if she was pregnant? He didn't even remember if he'd worked the spell. And it was not as if he could marry her. A crazy man couldn't marry!

The second brother crossed to Francesca, and shook her. "He said you asked him to. Is that true?"

Francesca moaned again that he'd made her do it.

"How many times?" she was asked.

"Once," she sobbed, "Just once."

The father turned his gaze to Bellamy. "Well?"

Bellamy's eyes searched the backdrop of mountains, before he spoke. "I made her do it. It was only once." And then, incalculably, he stepped toward the furious father, and put the whip on the ground.

Gaston stared, mouth open. Corot chose not to doubt the word of his daughter, confirmed, he thought, by her rapist, and a harsh command had two strong brothers holding Bellamy's arms again. He was spun around, and the whip came hissing down on his naked back. The furious little man hit as hard as he could. Bellamy made no sound, although one of the brothers protested furiously when the end of the whip caught him, and blood appeared on his forearm.

Francesca now wailed that she lied, that it was her fault, but her father told her only that she must go back to the house where her mother would look after her. Francesca was always soft-hearted, her father thought. She just didn't like the sight of blood, and now there was quite a lot of blood.

Francesca ran, and her father resumed the task of punishing the rapist. He was puffing now, and his blows became lighter and finally ceased. The brothers released Bellamy, who slumped to his knees.

Gaston was relieved. He didn't think he was too badly hurt. It was lucky the boss was not very strong. The boss turned his eyes to Gaston, and told him to go pack Bellamy's things. Gaston went. And then Francesca's father handed the whip to one of her brothers. "Finish off!" he said. "He must know that he cannot spoil innocent girls." Odil had a cruel streak, and took the whip with relish.

In Bellamy's room, Gaston tossed a few minor items into the backpack, and hesitated over a strip of bright material carefully laid over the bedside table. He'd shown enough workmen over the years into this little room that he knew it didn't belong. He folded the material, and laid it on top of the clothes, pitying the slow young man to whom it was obviously a precious possession.

Bellamy's head was already spinning, but even as the punishment was renewed, he made no effort to defend himself. After a little, he lay on the ground, semi-conscious. Gaston returned, Bellamy's backpack in hand, starting to run as he saw that the whipping had not finished. These blows were heavier, and, just once, Bellamy moaned.

Gaston grabbed the arm that flogged. "Stop! You're killing him!" And he made the one argument that might make the men see sense. "You don't want to be tried for murder, do you?"

Corot looked at the man who lay on the ground. His eyes were shut, and his naked back ran with blood. Like Bellamy, his eyes searched the mountains for inspiration. "We'll take him to a hospital. On the mainland, where he's not known."

Bellamy's eyes opened a little, and he moaned again as they wrestled him into his shirt, and put him roughly in the back of the car, followed by his backpack. Odil checked his wallet, thought in disgust that it was empty, and tossed it out the car window, a few miles further on. A fishing boat took Bellamy to the mainland of France, but instead of taking him to a hospital, he was just dumped in a ditch, out of sight behind some shrubbery. His backpack was thrown in the ditch, too, coming open, and spilling some of its contents.

Bellamy was quite badly hurt. He opened his eyes sometimes that night, but it hurt too much to move. A cyclist passed by the next morning, and a vivid splash of red in the deep ditch caught her eye. She stopped and investigated, handling the fraying piece of material before she noticed more red further along. Bellamy's shirt was soaked through with blood, and she caught her breath in horror as she looked closer to see whether he was alive. Reaching out she caressed his cheek, and he gave a muttered groan, opening his eyes briefly, and then closing them again with the worried look of pain.

Not long later, in a small village hospital, a nurse pulled the bloodied shirt from his back. It was only after his back was exposed, and some of the blood was sponged off, that they realised what had been done to this man. Neither of them had ever seen the results of a flogging before. But here were the bloody stripes, layered over severe bruising. An intravenous drip was set up, to combat shock, and painkiller was administered. The local gendarme arrived, and was briefed. An obvious case of assault, and careful photographs were taken, for later evidence in case the culprit could be charged. The gendarme would return later, and the victim questioned.

The nurse took her time to bathe his back thoroughly, gently unsticking long hair from the wounds across his shoulders. A five year old boy, the only other patient in the small ward, peered between a gap in the bedside curtains, watching in fascination, until the nurse noticed him, and sent him back to bed. Bellamy's jeans, underpants, and belt were put in the bedside locker, with his small backpack. His shirt was irreparable. Valuables would normally have been put in a safe, but the nurse just put his moneybelt with his clothes, and forgot it.

It was some hours before Bellamy blinked open his eyes, and tried to understand where he was. The boy, Telo, had been watching, and made his buzzer go so that the nurse left her coffee, and came to reassure. She called him Henry, the name on his passport. He still lay prone, having quickly discovered that movement was acutely painful. He didn't speak, and showed no sign of comprehension as Jeanne told him where he was. A call was made, and the gendarme shortly arrived. His questions, too, were answered with silence, and a vague stare that wandered. The cook could speak English, and was called to help. But the patient only closed his eyes. The gendarme gave up, and told him severely that he'd come back when he felt like talking.

Not long later, Bellamy managed to get himself to his feet, yanking out the intravenous drip in sudden fear, as soon as he noticed it. He was swaying, but managed to find his way to the toilet. He was discovered as he tried to return to his bed. Jeanne helped him back, remonstrating. He should not have removed the needle from his arm, he was not supposed to get up, and he was to ring the buzzer when the nurse was needed. And Jeanne patted his head, and told him to be a good boy and do as he was told.

He was left alone, lying prone, still naked, with just a sheet over him, and with a large dressing taped to his back. After a while, tears started running down his face. A lesson had been seared into the confused mind with the lash of the whip, close enough to the lesson that Corot intended. He now knew that crazy men were not allowed to go with women. The pain was deserved. He had caused hurt.

Telo came back into the room, coughing, his thin frame shuddering with the violence of the convulsions. But when the coughing died down, he went to sit beside Bellamy's bed, and asked him why he was crying. Seeking to console the man whom someone had whipped, he assured him that he still had all his things, and even pulled the small backpack out of the locker.

Bellamy looked, and put out his hand for it. Young Telo held it for him, as he looked inside, and then turned his face away. Telo put it down, and pulled something else out of the locker. "Is this what you're looked for?" he asked. Bellamy reached for it, taking the red cloth, and a smile rewarded the boy. Bellamy held the cloth, caressing it, and finally slept, holding it close to his face. It was the colour of happiness.

They were still unsure whether he understood their words, but he was quiet, and obedient. They thought he was a sweet boy, although both Jeanne and the doctor soon realised that he wasn't right in the head. He kept his strip of material on his pillow, sometimes stroking it, although it was crumpled, frayed, and dirt-stained. Telo continued to befriend him, sitting close, talking to him, and both of them found some comfort in the contact. Telo had been unwell a long time, and was not expected to make it to adulthood, although he would probably survive this particular illness. His parents came often, hiding their own heartbreak behind brave faces.

Late on the third day, Telo asked him if he might get whipped too if he was bad. It was worrying him. Bellamy spoke to reassure. No-one would whip Telo. He was a good boy, and even if he wasn't, no-one was going to whip him.

"Why did they whip you?" asked Telo.

Bellamy was quiet a long time, and Telo thought he would not get an answer. The strange man hardly ever spoke, except that he thanked him when Telo brought him a drink of water. Bellamy said, "I deserved it."

Jeanne was very interested to see that Bellamy was speaking to Telo. They'd been beginning to think that he was mute.

The gendarme returned and again questioned the patient. Without some hint of a clue, there was not much chance of discovering his attacker. Jeanne pointed out the scars around his wrists, and together, Jeanne and her cousin speculated on his past. One of the more farfetched theories was that he'd been a slave for many years, until some dissatisfaction had him cast aside.

Bellamy looked away from the gendarme, and ignored the discussion going on in front of him. He didn't trust policemen.

Later that day, the doctor arrived, wanting to inspect the wounds when the dressings were changed. "Looking good," he said, "There'll probably be a few scars, though."

Startling the pair, Bellamy spoke suddenly, with anxiety, "Please! Don't let it scar! I have too many scars! I can't have any more scars." Jeanne moved to reassure, telling him that as long as he did what he was told, and stayed as still as possible, it probably wouldn't scar much.

Bellamy was still anxious. "Don't you have any anti-scarring lotion?"

Jeanne smiled at the simple man's ideas of medicine, and said soothingly that they'd put a lotion on, of course, and before replacing the dressing, some innocuous skin lotion was smoothed on. Bellamy was satisfied. They now knew that he could speak perfectly good French, but he still scarcely spoke to anyone except for Telo. The nurses were awarded a thank you now and then.

After some days, he was allowed to walk around, although forbidden to raise his arms or move his back any more than absolutely necessary. Jeanne used the threat of scarring to keep him as obedient as possible. Jeanne's sister was the local hairdresser in the small and insular village, and it was she who carefully shampooed his hair, finally getting rid of all the old blood.

Telo was getting better, coughing less, and feeling more energetic. For hours he'd sit by the bedside of Bellamy, chatting about his life, rewarded occasionally by a comment, often puzzling, from Bellamy. He had to keep his hair long because Julie told him to. He couldn't remember why he'd been whipped, and his tone was oddly humble as he said that he didn't think very well these days. And then Telo started to talk about life, illness, and death, things he could never usually talk about. But Bellamy said that he'd died once, and it didn't hurt. And when Telo laughed at him, and told him he couldn't have died, he told him instead that Ginny died, and she said that dying was when the pain stopped. Telo was very interested in this, and quizzed him further, prepared to accept that a dead person might talk to Bellamy, who was so odd.

Telo and Bellamy became close. Telo liked to sit next to Bellamy on the couch in the small TV room, and Jeanne became used to seeing Bellamy with an arm around him, or Telo, who tired easily, sleeping with his head on his knee. The fear of death had worried the boy for a long time. He knew he wasn't like other children who could look forward to getting big. But it was easier now. Bellamy even told him that if a person concentrated, he could push pain away, and then it didn't hurt so much. When Telo asked him why he didn't do it himself, Bellamy said that he wasn't clever enough any more, and besides, he deserved it. When Telo asked him what he'd done that was so bad, Bellamy looked confused, and said that he thought it was because he was a crazy man. Telo was very intrigued with this, and had a lot of questions about why Bellamy was crazy. But Bellamy's answers only puzzled him more.

Others were in the ward now, an old man with pneumonia, and a young man with a very swollen knee. But Bellamy only talked to the boy.

Telo had heard talk. Bellamy was to be committed to an institution, as he was obviously retarded and couldn't look after himself. And he told his parents that they should let Bellamy live with them, because he was a crazy man and needed to be looked after. His parents took him home a day earlier than planned, and refused him the chance to say good-bye to his friend.

Ten days after Bellamy had been brought in, nearly all the cuts on his back had scabbed over, and the bruising was finally beginning to subside. There were just three parallel stripes curving around his right side that were still open, and one of those was only a couple of inches long. He'd made a good recovery. Jeanne was upset about his future, though. The institution he was to go to, had a bad name. Especially, they liked to give shock treatment, which made a lot of money for the psychiatrist. And Bellamy had no-one to defend him - he was just an innocent boy, apparently all alone. The other nurse tried to reassure - Bellamy was a charity patient, and the profits from hitting him would be less. The private patients were more at risk.

The day before Bellamy was to be transferred, the matron of the institution came to see him. Jeanne introduced her, making sure that Bellamy knew that it was this person who would be in charge of him. They would continue to see to his remaining wounds in the new place, until they were healed. Bellamy didn't quite seem to see the stranger, and spoke no word.

Late that night, the old man in the next bed watched as he dressed, picked up his backpack, and silently slipped out the door. And then, trying to muffle his own coughing, he went over to Bellamy's bed, and arranged a couple of pillows to make it look like it was still occupied. He too, had heard of the institution. He found a strip of red material carefully folded, and left on the pillow. The old man suspected it may have been left for Jeanne, but tucked it under the sheet for the time being.

Jeanne didn't go near Bellamy's bed for a long time in the morning. She was leaving him to sleep, she told the doctor. Only when it was unavoidable, did she 'discover' his absence, and was compelled to report it. The precious gift he'd left for her was put away, and valued.

Telo thought a lot about Ginny, the dead lady whom Bellamy had loved. She said that death was when the pain stopped. And when he died, two years later, death was when the pain stopped.

***chapter end***


	22. Chapter 22

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 2/__Chapter 9_

There were changes at the Ministry of Magic. Kate had retired, and so had Manfred. Jonathan Johns was now the head of the Auror Department, and a round and pompous man called Theodore Laurie was Minister for Magic. Problems of crime were beginning to increase again, and the enlarged Auror Department was finding more to do. Once Laurie was in charge, their search for Bellamy became more determined. Long ago, Laurie's father had been cured by him, one of those easy cures he could do in his sleep. It would have been forgotten by Bellamy five minutes afterward. But Theodore Laurie would never have been born if Bellamy hadn't been around to cure his father. It didn't matter if Bellamy was confused, as long as he could still do his cures. And it didn't matter if he wanted his freedom, or was miserable, as long as he was docile when handled, and not dangerous to others.

A day after Bellamy's departure, aurors were in the French village, quizzing hospital staff, and quizzing the local gendarme. They were appalled to discover how close Bellamy had come to potentially brain damaging shock treatment. And just in case he fell into their hands at some time in the future, they visited the notorious institution, and ensured that their shocking equipment would never be used again. A few days later, the psychiatrist had a special visit from a very old and skilled witch, who used hypnosis laced with a touch of magic. That psychiatrist might not help his unfortunate patients, but at least he was less likely to damage them in order to pay for his annual Christmas holidays.

There was that other thing. There was indisputable evidence that Bellamy had been flogged. It was hard to believe that he had allowed it, and easy to tell themselves that Bellamy needed to be looked after by the Ministry that cared for his wellbeing. Surely they'd be able to find him. He was on foot, and had little or no money. The French police were giving all cooperation, and within days, there was a widespread manhunt. Bellamy's enemies soon heard the talk, and some of them, too, searched France for their target.

Bellamy had a good start when he left the hospital, and walked a long way before morning. His wallet was gone, but there'd been a couple of unopened payslips tucked in a pocket of his backpack. Not much money, but enough until he found a job, maybe in the next country. He kept out of sight for a couple of days, although buying himself a meal whenever he came to a town, and a loaf of bread and a few apples, which went into his backpack.

Three days after he left the hospital, he noticed two policemen turning into the street ahead of him. He faded back around the corner, but there was something else. He paused, almost scenting the air. At the far end of the street, two men stood. They were dressed in ordinary clothing, just apparently standing, talking. Bellamy chose to brave the policemen, using the cover of cars and bushes until both the aurors, and the French policemen were out of sight. But more big men watched and waited for him in towns and villages all over the country.

Bellamy didn't know who hunted him. He'd forgotten that he was unique, and wanted by wizardry. He'd forgotten that others would be trying to kill him. But he knew he was hunted. He took to the fields, avoiding roads, and only travelling at night. He was sleeping rough, and didn't replenish his food supplies when they ran out. He must not be seen. With the lack of care and the lack of regular food, the healing of his remaining wounds was retarded. He would bear scars. But it seemed that he was quite prepared to be scarred, and quite prepared to starve himself rather than be taken where he didn't want to go. His dreams were troubled, but even in his sleep, he whispered, hiding. Every night, he walked, taking himself as far as he could from those who hunted him.

Beth, a long way away, felt that he was in trouble, but it seemed that he hid even from her. She could tell little more than that he was alive, and was hiding. She would be unable to find him herself, in spite of her telepathy.

She took a hand in the end, trying to convince Laurie and Johns to stop hunting him, explaining that he knew he was hunted, that they were most unlikely to find him, but meantime, he was starving. They were making it impossible for him to live. They concluded they were getting close, and redoubled their efforts. He could so easily have been lost to Wizardkind forever, either killed by the one who'd flogged him, or brain damaged beyond repair by the profit-driven psychiatrist.

Beth went to Adrian for help, as her own magic had gone. The result was some convincing evidence of the death of the great wizard. Aurors were recalled, medj police were advised, and the manhunt was called off.

Bellamy, now in Northern Italy, woke from a daytime sleep, well hidden in a cold and uncomfortable bed, in the middle of a patch of prickly berry bushes. He breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure of the hunt no longer weighed him down. But he staggered when he rose, and the light running shoes he wore had become paper thin. He could buy himself some food now, and he started walking again. After a while, he was back in the rhythm of it, and didn't stagger as much.

It was nearly winter. There was little seasonal work available and Bellamy was very thin, sometimes staggered, and frequently trembled in his weakness. He found no work, and there was very little money left, certainly not enough to replace his shoes when they became unwearable. Barefoot, he started heading south again. His feet might not be as cold in the south.

_**x**_

Father Tarzia lived in Rome, and helped homeless men. He kept hearing about the young man who was starving to death, and twice caught a glimpse of him. He wondered why he refused to come for the free meals that were provided every day. The other homeless men were also cold, and often hungry, and they had their own demons, but they knew where to go for help. The priest began to think of the mystery man as something akin to the feral cat he put milk out for every day. He so seldom saw the little female and she seemed impossible to tame. He called her _'Chat.'_ For some reason, he thought the man he sought to help might be French, and started to think of him as Jean.

Nearly a fortnight after Father Tarzia first heard about the young man, one of his regulars took him to where he sat, leaning against a wall. The priest was surprised that he appeared clean, not even bearded. Father Tarzia went and sat beside him. Suffering from starvation, the clouds of confusion had taken over almost entirely. He stared into the distance, and didn't answer when he spoke. Gentle persuasion was ignored. Finally, a firm command to get up was acknowledged. He tried to rise, and the father knew why he'd finally been able to come close. The man was too weak to stand, and only collapsed again onto the footpath. Rome was a modern city, the priest thought. How could this man have come so close to starving to death in a civilised country?

The car was brought close, but even before the priest tried to get him in, he brought him some bread and a mug of soup. Bellamy was hesitant, and Father Tarzia told him, "Eat, Jean!"

He ate, and when the priest asked him what his name was, he looked confused a moment, before saying, "Jean. My name is Jean."

He responded well to orders, and was helped into the car. Back at the small shelter, Father Tarzia put him to wait in a small internal courtyard. There was a bit of greenery, a table and chairs, and most importantly, the priest would be able to see if he tried to leave. And then he made a call. The man was too far gone. He wanted a professional to see him in case specialist help was needed. Maybe he should be in hospital, but then again, maybe this man was frightened of hospitals, and frightened of professionals. It wouldn't be the first time he'd struck that.

Bellamy rose from the seat where the priest had left him, and took a few steps before collapsing again. He pulled himself to the wall, and leaned his back to it. The last wounds on his back were still open, even after all this time, but Wizardkind was very resistant to infections of all types, and the wounds were clean. When the father returned with more food, he found him with the small cat on his knees. The cat was purring, and Bellamy smiled as he gently stroked her skinny frame. The father said a prayer of thank you, knowing in his sensitive soul that the cat might provide an anchor that would keep the homeless man close to him, at least until he was strong again.

As the priest had feared, Bellamy was wary of the doctor and nurse who arrived to see him, and started to back away, looking around as if for an escape. But he was too weak to walk more than a few steps, and when firmly ordered, he did as he was told. He didn't speak, and only started to tremble when he was asked questions. So they just dressed the open wounds, took note of various scars, including the remaining traces of the whipping, and gave their opinion that no useful purpose would be served by taking him to a hospital. He was better with Father Tarzia.

Bellamy was shown to a bed in the dormitory that sheltered over a dozen homeless men. In the morning, Father Tarzia thought that he'd lost him again. But old Vito pointed, and the priest investigated. He'd returned to the courtyard, and now curled up against the wall, with the little cat nestled against him. It appeared that two feral animals were being tamed, but it might be a slow process. Chat vanished as the priest approached, and the starvation thin man started to tremble the moment he woke.

He was provided with new shoes, thick socks, and a coat. After a while, he consented to sleep under cover in a small alcove near the courtyard. The shy cat could join him there. Still no-one else could approach the cat, but the priest thought that at least Jean seemed more tame. He was a little suspicious of that name, and asked him a few times what his name really was. After receiving three different answers, he gave up, and called him only Jean. The young man seemed perfectly happy to answer to Jean.

Once he was stronger, Bellamy started to help with the work of the place, washing dishes, preparing food, cleaning, tidying. He was a long way from the man who'd once left his clothes abandoned on the floor for someone else to pick up, and left the kitchen in a mess when put to the unfamiliar effort of making his own sandwich. The priest started paying him a very small wage, from the donations that kept the shelter going. Bellamy respected money these days. When he had money, he could buy food, and his small pay was carefully hoarded. The cat became tamer, finally allowing the priest to stroke her. She still kept well away from the other men who used the shelter. She was no longer nearly as thin, and liked to be close to Bellamy. Bellamy was no longer nearly as thin, either.

He stayed with Father Tarzia all the winter. The priest had him checked by a nurse a few more times, but it never occurred to him that the simple man should be institutionalised, or that maybe the police should be informed.

Vito thought the cat was really the devil, who wanted to get him, and one day he cornered her. Father Tarzia found Bellamy stroking her dead body, tears running down his face. There was a tiny patch of bare dirt in the courtyard, and the priest helped him make a grave for the little cat. Afterward, with a bit of show that might impress the simple man, he made a prayer, blessing the grave. He told Bellamy that he had to stay, in order to make sure that the grave was looked after, and the courtyard kept tidy. But Bellamy looked past him, his gaze unfocused, vague.

In the next days, Bellamy started wandering further, taking his backpack wherever he went. One day, he didn't come back. Father Tarzia prayed for him.

***chapter end***


	23. Chapter 23

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note: sex scenes in Part 2._

_Part 2/ __Chapter 10_

A Saturday night in early spring, still in Rome, Bellamy wandered the docks areas, looking at the ships moored there. Some ship's crews were rough men, and there was often rivalry and even resentment between the crews - a form of gang warfare. He knew he wasn't allowed to fight, but there was a conviction within him that fights should be fair. When he came across two men from one ship taking too much punishment from six men of another ship, he intervened, displaying his impressive speed and skill, almost single-handedly driving off the six men who pressed forward. Behind him, the one who'd been down struggled to his feet again, and the three stood together, facing the six, who abruptly turned and retreated.

Renzo and Fabroni took him under their wing. Renzo was something like a foreman on the _Marchesa_, if not exactly in charge of hiring, at least in a position to make recommendations. That night, Bellamy slept in a bunk in a ship's cabin. In the morning, his passport and papers were inspected, and he was officially signed on. By evening, they were at a different anchorage. It seemed that Bellamy had become a seaman, though most of his work was to do with the stowage of cargo in the hold, and other simple labouring jobs.

Renzo and Fabroni knew he was simple even before he'd been taken aboard. They also knew he could fight extremely well, but it was unlikely that others would guess from his demeanour. Bellamy could win bets for them. Meantime, they looked after him, explaining jobs that needed to be explained, and reminding him to come to meals. Now that he was fed sufficiently well, he was beginning again to forget mealtimes. It was a small freight ship, with less than twenty crew, including the Captain and a couple of officers. Bellamy shared a cabin for four, with two other men, who started off by ignoring him, but became a lot more interested when Renzo and Fabroni told them what they had in mind. The ship's crew would make a killing when next they came across the_ Contessa_, whose ship's crew liked to bet on their fighter.

They checked out their man when he showered. The consensus was that he was far too thin, even though they could see good muscle structure of limbs and back. He found himself being provided with second helpings at meals. Even the cook would be betting on him.

Three weeks after he signed on, they docked in Piraeus. The Contessa was already anchored. Bellamy didn't know the plans that were laid, but his shipmates were confident. Bellamy did whatever he was told. They'd tested, and even when he obviously wanted to do something else, a firm order was always obeyed, with no distinction made between an order from an officer, and an order from anyone else. He did whatever he was told. Bare knuckle fighting was not exactly civilised, but both the Captain and the First Mate would be ashore on the day for which the fight was arranged. It was to be on board their own ship, the Marchesa, where no police might interfere. The Second Mate would be present - he too had a bet - quite a large bet.

The famous fighter from the Contessa arrived, with several crew members of the Contessa. Bellamy's backers were given excellent odds, the odds rising even further when Bellamy turned his innocent gaze to those to whom he was introduced. He was quite a lot smaller than the other, too.

An open area on deck was cleared. Renzo instructed Bellamy to take off his shirt. He didn't seem to have any shorts, and wore the cheap shoes he'd been given by Father Tarzia, and the faded jeans he always wore. And then they told him he had to fight the other man. The other wore boxing shorts, and expensive running shoes, and his bare chest showed bulging muscle.

The big fighter's expression was puzzled. Was this the Bellamy that he was supposed to fight? He'd feel guilty laying a finger on him. He must outweigh him enormously, he was much taller, which meant, of course, that his reach was longer as well - why, the man was even trembling.

Bellamy was trembling and protesting. He wasn't allowed to fight. He might hurt somebody. He wasn't _allowed _to fight. And when they used the firm tone that he always obeyed, he turned in a circle, looking for an escape, and declared even more insistently that he wasn't allowed to fight. The other crew members were looking at Renzo and Fabroni with some considerable accusation. Generously, the crew of the Contessa suggested that all bets be returned, and they have a drinking session instead.

Fabroni was stubborn. He knew that Bellamy could fight tremendously well. He didn't understand why he was being so inconveniently reluctant. The gamblers went into a consultation. The odds had steepened to ten to one. They'd win a fortune if Bellamy won, and they'd lose quite a lot if he lost.

A large man called Giorgio was a leader among them. He swung the decision. They would go ahead. Their fighter just had to swing a few punches, and Bellamy would fight. It was in the nature of any man. And he grabbed the arm of Bellamy as he sought to retreat, feeling that there really was some solid muscle there. He pushed him toward the other. "Just swing a punch," the fighter was told. "You'll soon have your fight."

"The bets stand then," warned a Contessa man.

Giorgio nodded easily, "The bets stand."

Almost as reluctant as Bellamy, the fighter tried to hit him. Bellamy was still backing away, still trying to explain that he was a crazy man, and he was not allowed to fight because he might hurt somebody, but, almost as if by accident, he swayed slightly to the side, and the punch missed. Surprised, the fighter tried again, with more purpose. Again, the blow missed.

Bellamy was pushed back from the onlookers, and Fabroni yelled at him that he had to _fight!_ He had to fight and beat the other man.

Bellamy was looking all around, looking anywhere except at the man who he was supposed to fight. And not even looking, he dodged the fist that flew at him. The fighter would not have been the dockside champion if he'd been accustomed to defeat, and the next attack was determined. Bellamy paid attention, ducking, weaving and dodging, but his hands were still by his sides. He'd been struck a couple of glancing blows now.

They thought that surely he would fight back now. But a memory of the searing blows of a whip was running through the head of Bellamy. A crazy man must not do the wrong thing. He must not hurt somebody. Instead of turning and fighting, he turned and stayed still for the heavy blow that knocked him out. The Contessa fighter had won, and he felt terrible. Bellamy's shipmates lost their money. Bellamy was left to lie where he was felled.

It was a couple of days before he was fit for work again. By that time, the ship was well out of sight of land, and would be for nearly three weeks. No-one reminded him to come for meals, and there were certainly no second servings. Those who shared his cabin radiated such a hostility that he started to sleep on deck, in the shelter of a lifeboat. It was not a good shelter, and he woke with a cry of pain when a heavy kick caught him on the shoulder.

A decision was made. The imbecile had cost them money. Very well, Giorgio said, they'd take it out of his hide. Preparations were made, and whispered consultations went on - who was in, who was out.

Bellamy felt a softening toward him, and one of his cabin mates found him in order to remind him where he was supposed to sleep. He was given dinner. His mind was opaque these days, and he didn't feel the different way he was looked at as he showered. In all his years of travelling, there had never been any attempt at sexual molestation. It was set for the following day.

Renzo and Fabroni were under a cloud almost as much as Bellamy. They thought they'd best cooperate with their ship-mates, whether they really wanted to or not. Giorgio's threat to do them instead, or as well, swung the balance. Bellamy was an imbecile, and probably wouldn't feel the humiliation as a normal man might. The intended victim was treated with a lot of apparent kindness that morning. He didn't understand the reason, but it was better than being kicked. Either Renzo or Fabroni were always with him, telling him what to do, looking after him again, even reassuring him that everything was all right. Their voices were gentle, soothing. No-one shouted, no-one was rough.

Bellamy appeared more vague than ever, the tension he felt adding to the confusion that afflicted him. He was pulled away from the railings a couple of times that day, just in case. There had been a lot of looking at him that morning. They'd seen his body before, but there was a different feeling now. Excitement was growing, and the more they thought about what was to come, the more excited they became. Twelve men, including Renzo and Fabroni, although they'd told each other they wouldn't participate. Afterward, Giorgio promised, Bellamy would be left alone, his debt paid.

A noisy activity started in the engine room an hour after lunch. It would conceal any noises that might emanate from the hold, although they knew from experience that it was very difficult for people outside to hear what went on in the hold in any case. None of the officers knew what was in the wind, in case they thought it necessary to put a stop to it. A job to do in the hold, Renzo told Bellamy. Fabroni was on his other side. Casually, they urged him into the hold. Casually, they told him it was a dirty job, and that he should take off his shirt. Renzo gave him the example. They often worked shirtless. It was only practical when it was hot, as it often was in the hold.

Hesitantly, Bellamy removed his shirt. Why were so many here? He stared around, his gaze slightly unfocused. Everything was blurry as it always was, and his vagueness was apparent.

Giorgio gave Fabroni and Renzo a nod, and they tried the next step. Giorgio was thinking what a laugh if he'd strip and lie down for them just for the asking!

"We have to work on this blanket," said Renzo, nervously, indicating a blanket that was being laid down. "So you have to take your shoes off."

Bellamy was frowning, looking around, worried. "What do we have to do?" he finally asked.

"Just a job that only you can do," said Fabroni, in a soothing voice. "You have to take off your shoes, though." He knelt, "Here, I'll help you."

Bellamy was trembling again, worried and upset. But he allowed Fabroni to take off his shoes.

"Now your jeans," said Fabroni, in a matter-of-fact tone, and started to unbuckle the belt.

Bellamy stepped back, out of reach. "No!" he stated flatly. And he turned and started toward the ladder that would take him up out of the hold. Pretence was abandoned, and Bellamy was pulled back by several strong hands. Renzo and Fabroni held him firmly. He was still not fighting.

Renzo was pleading. "They're going to do it anyway, Henry, it'll be a lot easier for you if you just let them."

And Fabroni added, "You're not going to be hurt - just make them happy, and they'll let you alone."

Bellamy trembled. He didn't quite understand what they wanted. He was still only held by the two who'd acted as his friends, but ten men stood around, three directly between himself and the only exit. The lust on their faces was obvious, but possibly not to Bellamy. Giorgio gently stroked the erection that showed through his clothing.

Renzo said again, "It'll be a lot easier for you if you just let them."

"What do they want to do?" Bellamy asked.

Fabroni didn't know how much the retarded man knew of sex, and said in a soothing voice that he was just to lie down with his clothes off, and the men wanted to touch him. Nothing else, and it wouldn't hurt. They just wanted to touch him, and maybe rub up against him a little.

_Yeah_, Giorgio thought, _rub up against him a little._ But if they could get him down without fighting, it would be easier, and he stopped stroking himself, and looked away casually. Others followed his example. Once down, it would not be hard to hold him down. All of them but the cook were manual labourers, and strong, especially those who'd been chosen to do the holding.

Fabroni and Renzo were still trying for a relatively non-violent conquest. Bellamy would be hurt less if he didn't fight it. Fabroni tried again, using the firm voice that was nearly always so effective. "You have to do it, because you did the wrong thing before." Firmly, convincingly, "You did the wrong thing before, and this little thing won't hurt you. You'll be making up for doing the wrong thing. You have to do it. There's no alternative." And as he spoke he started again to undo Bellamy's belt, this time succeeding. "You have to do it."

When Fabroni started to pull down his jeans, though, Bellamy revolted, and wrenched his arms from the grip of Renzo. He was swiftly grabbed by those who'd been given the job of holding him, and were ready. Finally, _finally,_ he started to fight, but although he knocked down three men, they were not much hurt, and were quickly on their feet again. In spite of his resistance, his jeans and underpants were pulled from him, and, struggling furiously, he was pushed face down on the blanket. He managed to get a leg free and another of his attackers collected a bruise.

When the Second Mate looked into the hold, it was to the sight of Bellamy held very firmly face down. A strong man held each of his legs, drawn quite wide apart. Two more men held his arms, and his shoulders were forced down heavily onto the blanket beneath him. He was naked except for the moneybelt, which only drew attention to the pale buttocks. The Second Mate had participated in something like this before, and was deeply ashamed of it. His wife would not have believed it of him. But when Renzo looked up, half hoping that a stop would be put to it, the man was rubbing his groin, and had the same expression of lust on his face as the others.

Bellamy was swearing now, quietly and continuously, the vilest imprecations of a dozen languages, slipping from one to the other without a pause. A hand smeared Vaseline on and around his anus, and a cruel thumb was roughly inserted, pressing in and out a few times.

Bellamy relaxed his body, and his voice changed to the Italian of his attackers. Giorgio knelt between his legs, holding his own penis, fully erect, ready for the act he'd been dwelling on all day. He was a big man, and breath came short as they watched avidly.

Renzo and Fabroni forgot their reservations, and were as excited as the rest. They would have their turn. What difference did it make? Ten or a dozen, and it was perfectly obvious that the Second Mate was going to have a turn, probably straight after Giorgio, exercising the privilege of rank. Thirteen, unlucky for some!

The voice of Bellamy was insidiously undermining their resolve, a graphic description of the castration that would be performed on any who touched him. Bellamy had been a jackeroo once, long ago, and the procedure for castration with a sharp knife was explained in explicit detail. Giorgio was beginning his penetration, but his erection melted away as Bellamy described the slitting of the bag, and the removal of testes.

Giving up, he stood, furious, and spat the order. "Gag him!"

Bellamy was gagged, and lay now silent, relaxed in his body, not even trembling, no longer struggling. They thought he'd given up. There were too many to fight.

A discussion was going on. Giorgio was not the only one no longer hard. Who was going first? But before another took Giorgio's place, without the slightest warning of his intentions, Bellamy leapt into action, tearing himself free from the hands that no longer pressed as heavily, and one of the holders was hit with a vicious blow. He reeled back, dizzy, and then another joined him, slumping onto the deck.

Two men still fought to hold his legs, and others came forward to try and restrain him again. But now Bellamy was in full fighting mode, and managed to come to his feet in spite of those who pulled at him. More men were downed, and those who fell did not get up. Bellamy had forgotten that crazy men were not allowed to fight, and he fought as hard as ever he had, except that he used no magic.

His fury was frightening, and when one of the men tried to flee up the ladder, he was grabbed, pulled down, and knocked out. That action nearly lost him the fight, as four piled on him from behind, bearing him down again. Bellamy was fighting dirty, and a man's head was crashed against a wall, and then a thumb pressed so hard into the neck of another that he let go with a cry of pain.

Six were down, and out of the fight, at least for the moment. Others hung back. Bellamy's back was to the wall, and he breathed hard. But his eyes were fixed on Giorgio who had not yet taken part in the fight. He advanced slowly on the big man who had come so close to raping him. Two smaller men tried to take him from behind, but he treated the secondary attack almost with contempt, throwing off one, and using the other as a shield when Giorgio hit. Giorgio hit very hard, and a rib was broken, but it was not Bellamy's rib.

Warily, they circled. Bellamy somehow knew that Giorgio was probably the best fighter of them all. In these circles, the leader often achieved that position with his fists. The other men hung back now, watching, waiting to see if the big man they feared, might be defeated. Giorgio flicked his eyes to one of the men, who obeyed the unspoken order, grabbing Bellamy's right arm, while Giorgio hit out. The blow was avoided, and Bellamy's left-handed uppercut almost took Giorgio off his feet.

Giorgio was defeated, and the remaining men on their feet scrambled for the ladder, trying for escape. Bellamy was before them. One was there who had held one of his legs, and Bellamy's eyes never left him, as he stalked the terrified man around the small open area of the hold, finally punishing him with a single crashing blow that laid him out.

Few were left standing. One was the Second Mate who'd taken no part in the fight. There were also Renzo and Fabroni, and the short man who served as cook. Another had managed to escape up the ladder to call for help. Captain Verdi appeared, to see the new man, reportedly gone berserk. But Bellamy was just standing, his back to the wall, naked, a gag still in his mouth, and now he'd started to tremble again.

Three men still lay unconscious, including Giorgio. Others were groaning their way back to consciousness. One was holding his hand hard to the side, where Giorgio's fist had struck. With few exceptions, they looked at Bellamy with hatred.

The Captain raised an eyebrow at his Second Mate, "Well?"

The Second Mate shrugged. "It seems he just went crazy, stripped off his clothes, and started hitting."

"And why the gag?" the Captain asked quietly.

The Second Mate looked back at Bellamy. He'd forgotten the gag, and had no answer for the question.

Bellamy was shaking harder. He was not supposed to fight. His wits had totally deserted him now, and when the Captain told him to remove the gag, he made no move. The Captain told the cook to go to Bellamy, and remove the gag for him. Hesitantly, the cook took a step. Instantly, Bellamy stopped trembling, and bloodied fists were raised in threat. The cook quickly retreated. The trembling returned.

Captain Verdi spoke gently, "Bellamy, the fight is over. You can relax now. No-one's going to hurt you?"

Bellamy didn't appear to hear.

Carefully, slowly, the Captain approached, soothing with his voice, "I'm only going to take away the gag, and then we'll go up the ladder out of the hold."

Bellamy's eyes found the Captain's as he came close, and again the trembling ceased. His fists were part raised. The Captain continued to soothe with his voice, and looked into his eyes compellingly, as he felt around Bellamy's head for the cruel knot that held the gag. It was not easy to undo, and the Captain had to worry at it for a little. He could feel the tension in the man, and thought that he'd feel more relaxed if he'd only start to tremble again. It was as if he could spin into action again at any second.

Fabroni was picking up the clothes of Bellamy, his shirt and jeans, although his underpants had been used to staunch the blood on someone's face and were no longer wearable. Fabroni felt as if he'd lost all right to go near Bellamy, and only added the shoes to the pile of clothing.

"Where will I take his clothes?" he asked the Captain.

"Put them in the bridge. Bellamy will join me there for a while," said the Captain, racking his brains to think what to do with the man. He'd obviously been attacked, but he couldn't run the ship without two thirds of his crew. It was Bellamy that had to go. He cast his look around at the downed men. Another was stirring. Giorgio still lay unmoving.

"I assume everyone's still alive?" he asked the Second Mate, and when he was answered with a restrained nod, he added, "I'll see you shortly."

Bellamy was coaxed out of the hold, and led to the unfamiliar bridge. It seemed as if he was willing to trust the Captain for the time being. On instruction, he tried to dress, managing to get on jeans, and shoes, but the shirt was not done up. Again he was trembling violently, and couldn't cope with buttons. It was perfectly obvious he was suffering from shock, and the Captain already knew he was somewhat feeble-minded. A report came back. At least three of his men should be looked at by a doctor, including Giorgio, and another who was also still unconscious.

The Captain made a decision, and called for help. The cruise ship, _Costa Rivera_, was close, and would carry a doctor. And maybe Captain Guido would take Bellamy as well. After all, as far as he knew, he was a perfectly good hand, normally.

Bellamy tried to drink a mug of hot chocolate that a nervous cook had provided. Even with both hands, he shook too much to raise it to his lips. The warmth on his hands was comforting, though, and he held it, still on the table, even dropping his face over it to feel the steam. The Captain regarded him with worry. At least he didn't look inclined to fight any more, and he marvelled. Twelve of them, thirteen if one counted the Second Mate, and he'd beaten them!

***chapter end***


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note__: sex scenes in Part 2 of this story._

Book 8/Part 2.

_Chapter 11_

Captain Guido was annoyed at the inconvenient request from the Marchesa. It would delay them, but he could hardly refuse the services of the needed doctor. And what was all this about a man that needed to be taken off? His fellow captain had gone very cagey when he'd asked for more details, apparently not wanting to talk on the open airways. He decided he'd best go over himself and see what it was all about.

A larger crew than normal was appointed for the small boat, as Captain Guido was unsure of the exact situation. To the regular crew were added cabin-mates Mario and Nino, who happened to be standing close, and a couple of others.

As soon as they boarded the Marchesa, they saw the casualties, sitting or lying on the deck, except for two, still unconscious in the hold. Captain Guido looked around, half smiling, and said to the First Mate, "Some brawl you must have had!"

The First Mate shook his head. "One man! Just one man against twelve!"

In the hold, the doctor checked over the two men who'd been slow to rouse. One was only just beginning to stir, but even now, two hours after the fight, big Giorgio had made not a movement. "I think he's all right," she finally said uncertainly. "But I'd best wait until he comes around," and she went off to look at the other casualties.

The boat crew were getting the story of events from the lesser injured members of the crew. "He's a bloody maniac! Just went berserk!" There was a chorus of agreement.

Renzo felt deeply guilty, and said, suddenly, loudly, "They were trying to rape him, the whole bloody lot of them! Bellamy was just defending himself!"

Glares were turned his way, but two others corroborated his version of events.

The original speaker said viciously, "You would have had a go, too. I saw you watching when Giorgio was about to do 'im!"

Renzo flushed. He'd tried to forget that, but the other was right. He would have had a go, too, and Fabroni, he suspected, as well. And would they really have let him alone afterward? Or would poor Bellamy have become a toy, to be used whenever Giorgio felt like it? And again he felt the stirrings in his groin that he was so deeply ashamed of.

Meantime, Captain Guido was taken to the bridge where Verdi waited, still reluctant to leave Bellamy alone. They'd made enquiries, trying to find a crew member to keep him company who'd been totally uninvolved. But although some had only turned a blind eye, they'd all known what was to happen. Most were frightened of Giorgio, and some had assured themselves that the imbecile wouldn't feel it as much as a normal man.

Guido looked for the berserk monster who'd taken on twelve men, and won. But there was only a very young man, not very big, sitting at the table, head bowed over his drink. He was trembling.

Verdi spoke gently, "Bellamy, this is Captain Guido."

Bellamy looked up, and it could be seen that his face was wet from tears. Guido had been reluctant to accept a potential trouble-maker, but now he said abruptly, "All right, I'll take him."

Verdi was relieved. "You won't be sorry. He's a good worker, aren't you Bellamy?" Bellamy didn't answer.

The First Mate was left on the bridge, while the two Captains went to see how the other casualties were faring. Guido noticed Mario. Mario had a blunt, broken-nosed face, a big, furry body, and was kind. He asked him to go to Bellamy and keep him company a while, and mentioned that he'd be coming back with them. Bellamy had risen when the Captains left, and Mario's first sight of him was as he stood, back to the wall, still pale and trembling. His face was tear-stained and there was a red trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His shirt still dangled open and Mario noticed a reddened bruise.

One of the Marchesa's crew members brought in a worn backpack, and Bellamy tensed and raised clenched fists. The man had a bruised cheek. He avoided looking at Bellamy, and quickly left.

Bellamy reminded Mario of a terrified animal that needed to be tamed. Mario set about taming him. Casually, he picked up the small backpack, and sat it on the table, suggesting they both sit there a while. "Your drink is cold," he said. "I wonder if we can get another."

The First Mate was keeping away from the feeble-minded man, now proven dangerous. He'd noticed, too, that his captain hadn't happened to mention that he was simple, only talked about a young man, scarcely more than a boy, who'd been wickedly attacked. But he was all in favour of keeping the boy quiet, and sent for another hot chocolate for Bellamy, as well as for coffees for himself and Mario.

Bellamy was coaxed back to the table when his drink came, and this time managed to raise it to his lips, using two hands. Mario drank his own coffee, and meantime talked, gently and soothingly, about his ship, which would shortly be Bellamy's ship, the Costa Rivera.

Giorgio finally revived, sending a punch flying as he did, narrowly missing the doctor. When he was a little more sensible, Esta made a thorough examination before saying that he was still slightly concussed, but that there was no need for any further attention. She'd look at Bellamy when they had him back at the ship.

Guido was impatient. A lot of time had been lost, and passengers complained when the schedule was disrupted. Besides, it was past dinner time.

Mario stayed close to Bellamy, who obediently rose and came with them, slinging his backpack over his shoulder with the ease of long habit. Mario knew that he still trembled, but at least it had lessened to a gentle quiver. He put a hand on his shoulder to guide him onto the boat, but withdrew it when Bellamy flinched from him.

Rumours had been flying, and there was an audience when they boarded the ship. Most of the crew knew little, only that there was to be a new crew member who'd been in a fight. Passengers peered, too. They knew less than the crew, but the long delay in their voyage was unusual. Somewhere in the past, Bellamy was accustomed to staring crowds, and took no notice. Big Mario moved in front of him, as if to protect him from prying eyes, and somewhere in the past, that sort of action was familiar, too.

Esta, the doctor, had been inspecting him from a distance, noting the trembling, noting the signs of bruising, and even seeing the subtle interaction between Mario and the frightened boy. It was hard to believe that this thin boy could inflict a blow that had brought down the large, brutish man she'd been examining. And someone had added the information that it was a left handed blow, while another held his right arm. Esta shook her head. The capabilities of the human body amazed her sometimes. She was unsure how far the attempted rape had gone, as stories had conflicted. Some said Giorgio had done it, some said he hadn't. She'd overheard one vicious voice say that a dozen men did him, and serve him right, too. But the word from the Captain was that there was no need to investigate that aspect. The culprits would be dealt with. She had to check for injuries, though. A dozen men could inflict a lot of damage. She thought she might do that last, after he developed some trust that she was only helping him.

There was a four bed hospital on ship, rarely used, and the doctor's office next to it. Mario stayed close to Bellamy, even coming into the doctor's office at her nod.

"Let's see you then," she said to Bellamy, using a matter-of-fact tone. Bellamy's eyes found her, and a half-smile trembled on his lips. "Catherine!"

"My name is Doctor Esta Raef," said Esta, but she spoke gently.

Bellamy's hopeful look of recognition died, and his stare took on a vague, unfocused look. Esta was beginning to wonder if there was more wrong with him than shock.

"Take your clothes off, Henry," she said. "I need to check your injuries."

Bellamy looked past her. He made no move. Esta tapped her fingers against her side, wanting his cooperation, afraid to start him fighting again.

Mario said, "Henry, you want a shower, don't you?"

Bellamy slowly nodded. He wanted a shower. Men had been pawing at his naked body. He wanted a shower. Mario raised an eyebrow at Esta, who inclined her head.

Now it was a shower, Bellamy made no further objection to taking off his clothes, even though Esta stayed with him. There were traces of blood and dirt, scars, and when he bent over there was a shine that Esta guessed might be Vaseline or something similar, used in preparation for intercourse. There was a lot of bruising, including a very severe bruise on his shoulder blade that had to be a few days old. With as little fuss and as much tact as possible, Esta checked him over afterward, not asking him to submit to any more thorough examination than a gentle touch to the buttocks, and asking if his bottom was sore. He shook his head.

Mario still stayed with him, and as there were beds free in Mario's cabin, Bellamy would be put with him. When Esta was finished, Mario took Bellamy to the empty dining room, where they were given a belated dinner. Mario was hungry, but Bellamy didn't touch his own, in spite of urging. Even now, he shook slightly.

When Mario finished, he took both plates away for washing up. Bellamy watched after him, and his trembling became stronger again. He wanted Mario close. And this time, when Mario touched his shoulder to guide him, he didn't flinch away from him.

The crew in this ship mostly had eight bed cabins, but each cabin had its own small lounge/TV room adjoining, and its own toilet and bathroom on the other side. There was a large recreation room available on the Crew Deck as well. But it was in the small TV room that Bellamy was introduced to his cabin mates. Nino, smallish, with a delicate cast of features, twins, Taddeo and Silvio, in their early twenties, and with an insouciant attitude to life. Angelo was darker skinned than normal for an Italian, and had a big nose. Bruno was big, with a pronounced five o'clock shadow. There was an easy comradeship apparent, and a warmth that they seemed quite prepared to share with Bellamy. Mario, sitting next to him on the couch, was relieved when he noticed that his trembling had finally ceased.

They all knew what had been attempted with Bellamy, and when the twins whispered together, later on as they prepared for bed, they considerately took themselves to the other room before their play began. They'd been doing this together since they were thirteen, and were as innocent and carefree about it as a pair of puppies. It was partly their example that influenced the others. They all shared their warmth, as well as sex. They touched a lot, and enjoyed each other's bodies. None of them were true homosexuals, but it was certainly a consolation to have someone to enjoy when women were not available.

Mario's job the next day was to stay close to Bellamy, to take him back to Esta after breakfast, to take him to the paymaster to be officially signed on, and to take him to the supplies office, where he'd be fitted out with uniforms. This was a cruise ship. Faded jeans and an old shirt were not acceptable.

Bellamy looked vague, scarcely spoke, but did whatever he was asked. Esta was more sure now, the lad was simple-minded, if not something more complicated. At least he no longer trembled, but after she tried to speak with him a while, she went to the Captain and reported her suspicions.

Captain Verdi and the Marchesa were a long way away, pleased that there was no chance that Bellamy would be returned. And when Guido on the radio accused him of misleading him, he protested innocence. "He's a good hand, a strong and useful man!"

Guido said accusingly, "He's retarded!"

But Verdi said, "So what if he's a bit simple? He still does his work."

But Guido was Captain of a cruise ship, and the passengers were supposed to think that every single crew member was a bright, intelligent and supremely competent professional. Bellamy would have to be kept away from them. The Captain himself spoke to him, as he and Mario emerged from the pay office. "Do you understand, Bellamy? Only the Crew Deck, unless you're with someone else."

Bellamy nodded obediently. "Only the Crew Deck."

The Captain frowned at him disapprovingly. He was really very shabby. "Uniforms?" he asked Mario.

Mario nodded. "We're going there now."

"Good!"

The paymaster had emerged from his office, hearing the voice of the Captain. And he had a bit of information for the Captain, too. The new man was illiterate. The Captain swore, but as Verdi knew, there was no chance that he'd further delay his ship in order to try and return a crew member, even if it did appear as if he'd be a burden.

At the Supplies Office, Bellamy was instructed to try on a drab, coarse-woven blue/brown uniform, the uniform generally worn for manual labour on the ship. His size was checked, and four sets were allocated. And then he was told to try on the white uniform, the one that was used whenever there was contact with the passengers. He'd only get two of those, as it was assumed he'd be having little to do with the passengers.

Mario watched him as he changed, unselfconscious in front of them. He was pointed to the mirror, and even the Supplies Officer was touched by the dawning smile on the face of the boy. He looked altogether different in the smart whites, and Mario wanted to smooth the collar, as Bellamy's Julie had so often done when he'd been still the great wizard. He shook himself. This was just a boy, and untouchable. Unless, of course, maybe in a while, he wanted to be touched.

The Supplies Officer looked at his cheap runners. "Shoes," he said, "But you have to pay for those."

Bellamy said that he didn't think he had any money.

"None?" asked Mario.

"Blew it at the last port, I suppose," said the Supplies Officer.

"No, I think someone took it," said Bellamy, without any apparent resentment. It was only when he was hungry, or had the recent memory of hunger, that he remembered that money was important.

"We'll take it out of your next pay, then," said the Supplies Officer, and he handed over two pairs of shoes. And when he gave the usual lecture about care of uniforms, and standard of appearance, it was repeated twice over. It didn't take long for people to realise that Bellamy was slow.

Mario helped him iron the name labels on his new clothes, mark the shoes, and then showed him where they should be kept. There was less than an hour before lunch, and Mario decided he'd just show him around the ship, before reporting back with him for normal duties. For a while, Bellamy would be rostered with him, doing whatever he did. So now, wearing one of the drab work uniforms, Bellamy was shown the ship - the several bars, the dance floor, the swimming pools and spa rooms which were Angelo's special responsibility, the library, empty as usual, and an unoccupied passenger cabin.

"But you're only allowed on the Crew Deck, remember. Unless you're with someone else."

Bellamy nodded obediently, "Only on the Crew Deck."

They joined a few friends for lunch, and Mario introduced Bellamy, who was looked at curiously, and spoken to with great respect at first. Twelve men! It was a bit puzzling, though. He seemed retarded, especially when he looked at a man with that vague and innocent look, but no-one could have expected that a retarded man could fight with the speed and ferocity they'd heard about. A few were quietly amused. Mario and his cabin-mates had best not try any of their tricks with this man. Not everyone knew about them, but quite a few did. It was not uncommon on ships, when there were few available women. They were firmly discouraged from having any other than a strictly professional relationship with passengers, male or female.

Afterward, Mario and Bellamy joined Nino and Bruno in the hold. It was a simple matter of moving large boxes of provisions, making some more accessible, and taking others to the cook's store-room. It was a regular job. Chivas watched Bellamy and Nino for a while, as they started moving boxes, noting with relief that the new man seemed like a perfectly good worker after all. He went off to help Mario on his endless trips to the kitchen store-room. The passengers needed a lot of feeding, not to mention the crew.

Nino took off his shirt as he started to sweat, and Bellamy followed his example. Chivas was taking little notice of them, except to check on their progress now and then. He was about to call a break, when he noticed the black bruise on Bellamy's shoulder. "Let's see that!" he said to Bellamy. He ran his fingers over the swollen area, thinking that Bellamy should not be undertaking heavy manual labour with the bruising on his body that had to be painful.

Mario called suddenly, his voice strained, "Chivas, Back off!"

Chivas started, looked at Bellamy's face, and backed off. "I was just thinking you should be on light duties," explained Chivas, awkwardly. But the situation had been too close to that of the previous day, shirtless, in the hold, men around still nearly strangers, and with someone taking an unfamiliar interest in his body.

Nino's eyes darted from one to the other, and he started moving boxes again, saying casually, "Come on, Henry, there's a job to do."

But Bellamy was trembling violently, leaning against a stack of boxes. Nino continued to work, and Chivas decided to take another load to the kitchens. Mario wanted to go to his frightened boy, hug and comfort him, but sensibly decided he'd best just let him alone. After a while, Bellamy stopped trembling so badly, and started moving boxes again. The break was called late, giving him a chance to settle down.

Chivas exercised his judgement and rostered both Mario and Bellamy to duties that didn't involve heavy lifting for a few days after that, kitchen work, which Mario loathed, but Bellamy took as a matter of course. Like others before them, the crew of the Costa Rivera were finding that Bellamy was easily managed, just doing whatever he was told, and working well.

Captain Guido was relieved when told. Maybe the new man would not be a liability, after all. He never heard about the near disaster in the hold. Chivas blamed himself. He'd been stupid and insensitive. Of course the man might be a bit paranoid for a while. And he fingered his own jaw, and thought that it might have been a very narrow escape.

***chapter end***


	25. Chapter 25

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note__: sex scenes in Part 2 of this story._

_Part 2/__Chapter 12_

Several weeks went by. Bellamy was a lot more relaxed, and it was recognised that occasional trembling attacks were normal for him. He always worked well, although he had more trouble than most keeping his balance in heavy seas. He seldom smiled, never laughed, and spoke little. They learned that they should not ask him about his past, as he became upset. He was a mystery, but he was treated with indulgence by most of the crew, and with a protective warmth by his cabin mates.

Their casual body contact extended to Bellamy, and this touching never bothered him. He was accustomed to living in different cultures, and the Italians always touched more than English. It was normal, and he enjoyed their warmth. As instructed, Mario took him to Dr. Raef every week to begin with, and then every fortnight. Bellamy was usually silent, but when he called her anything, it was always 'Catherine.' After a couple of months, he was no longer so thin, and she said that there was no need for him to come any more.

The work became routine, and he came to know the Crew Deck very well, including the large recreation room, for the use of them all. It had a table tennis table, a few dart boards available, and a large TV, usually used to show taped films. None of his jobs included any contact with passengers, although sometimes he helped with some early morning cleaning. Always he was rostered with one or more of his cabin-mates, not always Mario.

They were cruising the Mediterranean, frequently calling into ports, where the passengers would go ashore. It was so familiar to the crew, that even if they had a day off, they quite often didn't bother going off the ship. But Bellamy's cabin-mates thought it might be a treat for Bellamy, and when they came to Marseilles, and Nino and the twins had some time off, they took him with them. He was a responsibility though, and they nearly lost him for good in a market, when he wandered off in the wrong direction. For twenty minutes, they searched, getting worried and annoyed.

Bellamy hadn't realised yet that he was lost, but was quite pleased when he found Nino beside him again, and gave him his wide, innocent smile. He was not much rebuked, but they kept a much closer watch on him after that, and when four of them went out again that evening to visit a brothel, he definitely was not invited.

It was only occasionally after that, that he was allowed ashore, and Mario kept very close when he was, usually physically holding him by the hand or the arm. There were too many sights and sounds in the ports that distracted Bellamy, and the firm voice that compelled his obedience was called into play more often.

To their surprise, he pointblank refused to go ashore in Istanbul. He said that bad things always happened to him in Turkey. So when they went ashore, they left him with Chivas and told him to be good. Bellamy was being tamed, as Mario set out to do from the start. One evening, Mario put his arm around his shoulders as they sat on the couch watching TV. Bellamy relaxed into the warmth. A few days later, it was Taddeo who wrapped him in a bear hug merely because he laughed with them at a joke they suspected he didn't understand. He was seeming happier, and was less vague.

Nino took him to the ship's shop one day, and he supplied himself with new underwear, a new wallet, and on Nino's suggestion, some swimmers. He was pleased with his swimmers, putting them on again that evening, and admiring himself. All the cabins had a full length mirror, where crew members were supposed to check their appearance before being seen by passengers.

Angelo was admiring his body. He really was beautifully built. "Do you want to go swimming, Henry?" he asked.

Bellamy gave him his innocent smile. "Yes."

He couldn't go swimming by himself, as the swimming pool was not on the Crew Deck. All six of his cabin-mates decided they'd also go swimming in the warm evening. The warmth of the men was felt by Bellamy, and he only pressed closer when Mario put an arm around him. Only one of the three swimming pools was available to crew members, but it was the longest one. No-one else was there, and they splashed and played for a while, and then Bellamy started lapping the pool in a smooth, easy stroke, apparently untiring.

The six others tired of it after a while, and sat watching him.

"What do you reckon?" asked Bruno.

"Maybe if we don't frighten him," said Angelo.

Mario frowned. "We'll have to go very slowly..." But he, too, wanted Bellamy. He wanted to love him, not just to have sex with him. But he was a kind man. Only if Bellamy wanted it, too. There was to be no suggestion of coercion, though they all knew that merely using a firm tone would always ensure that Bellamy did what he was told, even when reluctant for some reason.

In the shower room later, they soaped each other and splashed each other, and then Nino announced that he was going to shampoo Bellamy's hair. Bellamy made no objection, and Nino caressed as he worked. Afterward, Bellamy sat on the floor between his legs, as Nino combed out the long hair.

"Why do you wear it so long?" asked Mario, curiously, watching.

"Julie says I have to," Bellamy said.

"Who's Julie, Henry?" Mario asked.

A baffled, sad look crossed the face of Bellamy, and he stared into the distance. Nino couldn't see his face from his position above him, and he asked, as Mario had. "Who's Julie?"

Bellamy didn't answer, and he repeated the question. Bellamy finally spoke, "I think she's dead," and he started to tremble, as he always did when they asked questions about his past.

Mario gave Nino an accusing look. They'd all seen the scars on his body, including three parallel stripes on his right side that looked quite recent, and the white bracelets on his wrists that had to have come from being tied up at some stage. They thought there must be horrors in his past, and maybe that was why he was so strange.

That night, Angelo and Mario entered the sleeping cabin a half hour after the others. They'd been in the other room together. They mostly went there now. Bellamy wasn't really one of them, and they were discreet in their sex lives, except for the twins, who seemed not to be able to help themselves. They were all asleep. Bruno snored softly, and Bellamy muttered and fretted in his sleep, as he almost always did.

Mario spoke softly. "He doesn't sound very happy, does he?"

"Why don't you sleep with him then?" said Angelo. "You do me good! Maybe you'll do him good, too."

The next night, Angelo told Bellamy that he had to stay with him for a little while in the TV room. Unquestioning, Bellamy stayed with him in the TV room for a little while, and only nodded when Angelo announced that it was time to get ready for bed. He was still with Angelo when they entered the sleeping cabin.

Bellamy looked around in bewilderment. Where was his bed?

Mario pointed to the mattresses pressed together on the floor, where a double bed was prepared. "You're sleeping there from now on, Henry," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Bellamy nodded. He was sleeping there from now on. He stripped to underpants, as he normally did.

"Take off your underpants, Henry," said Angelo. "Grown-up men sleep nude." And Angelo cast aside his own clothes and slipped between the sheets of his own bed.

Bellamy took off his underpants, put them in the laundry basket, and got into the bed on the floor. Mario, as furry as a bear, got into the bed with him, and told him to turn on his side. Bellamy did as he said, and Mario cuddled close to his back, putting an arm around him. The reaction was unexpected. Bellamy snuggled into the warmth of his body, sighed deeply like a tired child, and went straight to sleep.

Mario was stunned. He'd expected nervousness, resistance maybe, not this total trust and peaceful sleep. Bellamy always slept badly. That night he slept like an innocent. And whatever Mario had intended beforehand, that night he only held him with love, and shared his warmth.

The others, Angelo especially, stayed awake a long time, listening to the sounds from the bed on the floor. Mario always huffed and puffed like a steam train when he had sex. It was a bit of a joke among them. And they didn't know how Bellamy would react, either. He'd apparently not been at all disturbed when the twins had sex in the cabin when he was there, and he responded to the non-sexual caresses they gave him with a total acceptance.

For Bellamy, the extended body contact was balm for a wounded soul. It was so long since Julie had been with him, and, except for the disastrous interlude with Francesca, he hadn't even had the close contact of sex for many years.

They asked Mario about it, of course. Mario just said that he couldn't touch him, that Bellamy trusted him, and he would not do anything he might not like in bed. And he said in a tone of wonder, "Did you see how he slept! He's always talking in his sleep, sometimes, I think, even crying. But he slept in my arms just so peacefully."

The second night, Mario became restless, and finally slipped out of bed and went to Nino. A little later, Bellamy roused slightly, and half-smiled. It was only Mario and Nino, and he was asleep again when Mario wrapped his arm around him.

Over the next weeks, Bellamy became accustomed to sleeping on a mattress on the floor, embraced by the big, plain man with kindness in his soul. Sometimes he felt the warmth of an erection pressing against his thighs. It never occurred to him to feel threatened. Angelo asked Mario how he could bear it. Sleeping so close. Surely it would be so easy just to slip it in, maybe pushing him on his face so that he couldn't pull away. Mario was offended. Did Angelo think he had no self control? And he told him again, "He trusts me!"

But he did find it difficult. The boy slept in his arms, and he was naked. Nino was quite often woken at night, when it became too much, or Bruno if Nino grumbled too much.

But they all wanted Bellamy, not just Mario. There was something about the beautiful body allied with the innocent gaze, that was devastatingly attractive. And Mario had been supposed to be getting him accustomed to it. Mario was his 'special friend,' but special friend meant a sexual relationship, as well.

Angelo put his mind to it. Mario refused to do it in bed, so maybe there was something else they could do. That evening, as he checked the water in the spas and tidied and cleaned the saunas, he started to think. A spa was so relaxing, and Mario insisted that if anything be done, it should be very slow and gradual. Henry should not be frightened, as he'd been so frightened when the crew of the Marchesa had tried to rape him. Man to man sex wasn't automatically painful. It just required gentleness and appropriate preparation, more, of course, for a novice. It was almost automatic for the experienced men to relax muscles, and receive pleasure. But a novice was often upset the first time, and quite often hurt, especially if there had been coercion involved. And force, of course, was very traumatic. There was the probability of injury, too, with a forceful penetration.

The spa-rooms were always closed after ten at night for cleaning, but Angelo was responsible for the cleaning and maintenance, and if he chose to allow his friends to use one late at night, no-one would object. One of the spa rooms was larger than the others, and Angelo looked at it speculatively. There was room for a massage table, even the size of the one he had in mind. He worked out carefully what size was needed. The maintenance men cooperated, although one commented that it seemed a bit wide for a massage table. And when Angelo organised a foam mattress to go on it, it was quite a bit more narrow.

When all was ready, Bellamy was told they were all going to have a spa together. He did what the others did, picking up his towel, and unhesitatingly undressing and entering the hot water of the eight-man spa straight after Mario. The door was locked, and the frosted window covered with the large sign that announced that it was closed for cleaning. Detailed planning had been going on. And there was an eroticism in the mere fact that they would be progressing so slowly. Angelo put aside his impatience, and agreed with Mario. Absolutely, Bellamy would not be frightened and not be hurt. In the end, they'd all have him, and then he'd truly be one of them.

Mario told Bellamy to go to Angelo, and Angelo held him, cuddled him, and caressed his body, although not touching genitals. Then Nino. All was gentleness, all was tenderness. The hot water bubbled around them, gently soothing away tensions.

"Massage?" Angelo casually asked Nino. Nino nodded, and Bellamy was told to go to Silvio, who held out his hands to him from his position where they could easily see the massage table.

Bellamy watched as Nino climbed onto the table, and lay face down, with his pelvis lying across a bolster, which raised his bottom. His arms were down by his sides, and legs were parted, his knees and lower legs lying down beside the edges of the foam rubber mattress that covered the centre of the large table. Angelo and Mario, stood at his shoulders, holding, stroking, kneading muscles. Bruno and Taddeo held and stroked legs and buttocks. Nino closed his eyes in utter bliss. It felt so good!

Silvio commented to Bellamy. "That's the position best for total relaxation. You can see Nino, how he's enjoying it."

Silvio hoped that he wouldn't notice that the men around Nino, without exception, were sporting large erections. Bruno was rather spectacular, as he always was. That was something that hadn't entered their calculations. No sex in front of Bellamy - not yet. And he raised his voice a little. "Me next?"

Silvio was next, but that was enough for the evening, and they returned to their cabin. Bellamy was sent to bed, and while Angelo did a quick mop of the floor of the spa-room, helped by Bruno, the other men went to the TV room, and enjoyed each other. They wondered why they hadn't used the spas and performed massages before. That massage was incredibly sensual, and restraining themselves when first Nino, and then Silvio lay in that utterly available position had nearly driven them crazy. It was going to be even harder when it was their Henry in that position, and they had to do nothing - yet.

The following evening, Mario had a turn at being on the massage table, looking rather comical, with his big hairy bottom raised. Bellamy was left in the spa alone this time, so that there was an extra man to kneel between Mario's legs, and from that position, give a really good massage. And when Taddeo had a turn, Mario knelt between his legs, and massaged, although he didn't have the knack that a couple of the others did.

Mario went back to Bellamy in the spa then, holding him close, caressing his flanks and shoulders.

During the following weeks, Bellamy became accustomed to the attention he received in the spa, and on the massage table. Their caresses in the spa became a little more intimate, but he scarcely seemed to notice.

"You need a massage every night," Mario told him, "Because you get too nervy," and from then on, whoever else had a turn, Bellamy always had a turn. And because he'd seen the others, he was not worried when he was put in that same vulnerable position, and someone knelt between his legs.

He was thriving on the treatment, cuddled and held in the spa every evening, and held close every night, all night. He slept peacefully now, always, and started to talk more, sometimes surprising his friends with the strange things he told them. There was an occasion when he leaned on the railing of the ship, reluctant to go to his dinner. And when Nino and Mario asked what he saw, he gave them a big, innocent smile, and told them there were merpeople down there. They were confused for a moment, and then Nino asked, "Do you mean mermaids, Henry?"

Bellamy was looking back at the water, and agreed, but added, "But there are men, women and children of course, it's only sailors that think only a maid can be a merperson."

Nino loved playing with his hair. It was always shining clean, even when he didn't seem to shampoo it very often. The white strands fascinated Nino, and he'd run them through his fingers. He had Bellamy between his knees in the TV room one day, putting it into long plaits, and laughing afterwards at the effect. They were all there, idly watching Bellamy being fussed over. Silvio and Taddeo sat together, playing with each other, as they so frequently did, until Silvio firmly told his twin it was enough, they'd play later.

Taddeo turned his attention to Bellamy, and asked, curiously, how old he was.

"Pretty old, I think," said Bellamy.

Taddeo persisted, and the others were looking interested, too. They couldn't get a definite answer out of him, and Angelo finally asked where his passport was. To their surprise, he took it from his pocket.

Angelo studied it. "You're twenty-four, Henry. Your birthday's next week."

Bellamy nodded, "Twenty-four."

"Do you always carry your passport with you?" asked Angelo.

Bellamy nodded. "I get lost sometimes, so I have to always carry my passport and always carry my backpack when I'm walking."

"Where's your backpack now?"

"In my cupboard."

Mario leaned forward. "What's in your backpack, Henry?"

Bellamy looked vague. "Spare clothes, I think. There might be some bread, too."

Mario smiled. "I'd best have a look." Was he going to find four month old bread tucked into the backpack?

The backpack looked to be untouched since Mario had first seen it, stuffed apparently full, with a ragged towel poking out.

"Have you opened this since you left the Marchesa, Henry?" he asked.

Bellamy looked vague and said that he didn't know. He wasn't objecting to Mario unpacking it, and Mario removed the crumpled towel, and then pulled out some jeans and a shirt that had apparently been stuffed in without any attempt to fold them. A filthy object also fell out. His underpants, covered with old blood.

Mario wrinkled his nose. "This must be from when you had that fight," he said. "They're disgusting. I'll throw them away."

Bellamy was looking increasingly vague, his eyes wandering. Jeans and shirt were laid out. They too had blood on them, probably from the underpants. They were very shabby, almost falling to pieces. There was no jumper, and nothing that was warm. It was a pitiful collection, and Mario looked away, tears in his eyes. Nino pulled Bellamy's hair from the plaits, stroking it, and Angelo told him to get up now, it was time to go for a spa.

In the spa, as he was relaxed, basking in the warmth, cuddled between the twins, Angelo asked him what he remembered of the fight on the Marchesa.

But Bellamy said, "I don't fight. I'm not allowed."

Even when pressed, he seemed to have no memory of the fight, and no memory of those events that had preceded it. And when queried as to who said he wasn't allowed to fight, he told them it was because he was a crazy man, and crazy men were not allowed to fight because they might hurt someone.

Bellamy's memory was patchy, the clouds of confusion seemed to come and go, leaving sometimes thin patches in the fog. He still saw his wives occasionally, though he was unclear who the friendly ladies were, and they didn't speak to him these days, only smiled and nodded.

***chapter end***


	26. Chapter 26

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note__: sex scenes in Part 2 of this story._

_Part 2/ __Chapter 13_

A few days later, Mario told Bellamy he was to go into Naples with them, and they'd buy him new clothes. The old ones had been thrown out, without any objection from Bellamy. Two pairs of jeans, and the brightest possible shirts, as he wanted. A little underwear. And then they strolled, the other men doing a little shopping, too. It was a lot cheaper than the few shops on the ship. Bellamy pointed to an ice-cream stand, looking hopefully at Mario. Mario nodded, smiling at his pleasure when he was allowed to buy them ice-creams.

Bellamy was surprised, a little shocked, when Taddeo started a very deliberate caressing in the spa one evening. Taddeo was surprised, too. For a young man, it was taking an inordinate time for him to develop an erection. But when he did, he was hugged and surrounded by warm approval. And after a while, he became accustomed to that, too. They always wanted to make him hard, and it pleased them.

Except for some fairly intimate caressing, there was no sexual activity in the spa. Angelo was extremely fussy about the cleanliness of his spas. A few of them wanted to use massaging oil, but it scarcely seemed worth the bother when Angelo insisted they have a shower before re-entering the spa.

The slow process of seduction was developing a fascination for the six men. They no longer wanted to hurry matters, and the sexual activity among themselves had never been greater.

The next step in the programme, carefully planned, mostly by Angelo, came after a warm sunny day, when they had enough time off for sunbaking and swimming. Still feeling sensuous from their hours in the sun, that evening in the spa, Bellamy was instructed just to let himself float. Supported by the men, his penis was coaxed into erection in the way he was accustomed to, but while he was hopefully enjoying that feeling, his bottom was massaged, and a very gentle little finger pressed against his anus. A frown of puzzlement crossed his face, but Mario soothed, and said that he was being very good, and making all of them very happy. And he held him with a little more firmness and warmth as Taddeo's finger penetrated.

Bellamy didn't think he liked it much, but they were his friends and they wanted to do it. It took longer for him to grow accustomed to this step, and they made no further progress for a while, until he no longer frowned at the small penetration.

Uberto, the doctor's assistant, nearly got himself clouted one day at breakfast, as he casually spoke to Mario, nodding at where Bellamy sat with Nino, and asked with a complete lack of subtlety, "Got him nicely broken in, yet?"

Mario started to say several conflicting things, furious, spluttering, then gave up and stalked off. But later that day, at the side of the swimming pool, he asked Angelo, "Is that what we're doing, getting him broken in?"

Angelo pointed at Bellamy, who was laughing and playing with the twins in the pool. "If that's what we're doing, it's done him good!"

Mario watched him thoughtfully for a while. "I told you about the first time I saw him. He was like a terrified animal. He'd been crying, and he was shaking."

Angelo said, "We're not doing anything that he's not happy to go along with. And it really is doing him good." And he smiled. "I think he'd be heartbroken now if you made him sleep alone again."

That night before the massage, Bellamy was made to stand near the massage table, and Taddeo, who was so good at it, began to work on him. There was some warmed lubricant gel used, and a finger inserted also, as he became erect. They wanted him to connect the good feelings of sex with that still alien feeling of penetration. He became anxious when Taddeo didn't stop, but Mario told him to hush, and held him tighter, until he shuddered in his climax. And then he was hugged and caressed and praised as if he'd done something wonderful. But the vacant, unfocused look had come back, and he stared into the distance, not quite happy.

They lay him down on the table then, working on getting him relaxed and accepting again. They had their accustomed positions, and took them as a matter of routine; Mario at his head, the twins usually at his legs, Bruno and Nino at his shoulders, in a position to hold, but with never any need to hold at this stage. Then there was someone kneeling between his legs, convenient for massaging, and perfect for sex. The massager almost always became very obviously excited, but still they waited. They took turns, moving around a little. When it was time, they'd be taking turns. They'd even set the order, teasing themselves by telling each other how it would be. Someone else always had a massage as well, sometimes more than one. Bellamy had to accept it as normal.

When Bellamy was sent to bed afterward, there was always a great urgency in their lovemaking. Bellamy had a beautiful build. He was tanned dark, except for his bottom, which was pale, untouched by the sun. And he had hardly any body hair, which was a contrast to their own bodies, and made him seem younger and very much more desirable. Even the long white scar on his back somehow added to his attraction. And when he lay prone before them, bottom raised by the bolster he lay on, eyes closed as instructed, it was very hard to be restrained. The image haunted their dreams, and Bellamy was taken a hundred times in their fantasies.

Every evening now, Taddeo or Silvio would massage him to climax, sometimes taking him in their mouths instead. He never seemed to quite enjoy it, but he began to accept it. The warmth of his friends was too important to him. He did what they wanted. In the spa, every time, he was caressed, and penetrated, only by gentle fingers in the spa, but once out of the water, lubricant gel was used, and a small dildo that Bruno bought specifically for the purpose. Bruno was very big, and even experienced men were often reluctant to accept him without some gentle buildup. Poor Bruno had to submit to penetration probably six times as often as he was permitted to penetrate. Not that he didn't get enjoyment either way, but all of them preferred to be on top when possible.

Angelo and Bruno were undertaking some additional training of Bellamy as well, out of the sight of Mario. They wanted to ensure the total effectiveness of a firm tone when needed. They were going to have him, and have him soon, but they didn't want Mario stopping them just because he might be a bit reluctant at first. They were sure he'd soon get used to it. And Mario was very soft with him. So now Bellamy found himself taken ashore more frequently, especially by Angelo and Bruno. And they made sure that at least once on an excursion, they would use that firm tone to stop him doing something he wanted to do.

There were opportunities on ship, too. Once he was harshly rebuked, and the affection apparently withdrawn when he objected after he was allowed to do just one lap in the pool, and then was told he had to get out. He turned vague and trembled a while, but next time, when they did the same thing, he did exactly as ordered, and was rewarded with their praise and with hugs to reinforce the lesson. He had to do what he was told.

Bruno was especially concerned to have him obedient. No matter how he tried to be gentle, he was just too big, and often hurt the others. Silvio had pulled away just the other day, swearing, and then he'd had to be satisfied with being the recipient. When it came time, he wanted Bellamy quiet and obedient, not daring to object just because he might be hurt a little. He sometimes had fantasies of just shoving it in as Bellamy was firmly held down by the others - no preparation, no warning. But that was just a fantasy born out of the frustration of always having to be so careful.

He manufactured another situation that would provoke an objection from Bellamy, and then rebuked him harshly when he achieved the desired result. He put on a bit of an show, acting as if he was very angry. Bellamy stared vaguely into the distance, and after a while, asked if he was going to be whipped.

Bruno stared at him, mouth open, suddenly remembering three parallel scars on his right side. Had he really been whipped once? He went to him to reassure, bitterly regretting his feigned anger when Bellamy flinched from him. And that evening in the spa, he held him longer than usual, wanting to be trusted again. But Bellamy didn't seem to hold a grudge, and Bruno wasn't even sure whether he remembered the incident. He was still so vague sometimes.

Uberto had been wondering about their progress. No-one was saying much, but a quiet rumour had spread that they were using the spa a lot. One day, he grinned slyly at Angelo, and said, "You know, he's almost certainly not had his annual REF injection." Angelo hadn't thought about it. But Uberto was right. No-one worried about venereal infections these days, as they were all protected, but they suspected enough of Bellamy's past life to know that the routine injection had almost certainly not been done. And they couldn't go ahead if he'd not had his REF shot.

When Bellamy was happy and relaxed in the spa was the time to try and talk to him. They were more likely to get sensible answers then.

"When did you last have your REF shot, Henry?" asked Mario.

"I don't know," said Bellamy vaguely.

"Do you know what a REF shot is, Henry?" asked Angelo.

"No," answered Bellamy.

"It means that you don't get sick," said Angelo. "We all have to have an injection every year."

Bellamy was alarmed. "No! I can't have an injection. Injections make you go to sleep, and then people do awful things to you. I'm not having an injection!" It must have been one of the first times that he'd had one of his trembling attacks in the spa. It needed a lot of soothing and reassurances before he settled down again. They didn't promise he wouldn't have an injection, though. He had to have his REF.

Uberto's help was sought. He was pleased to help, although surprised that they were taking so long to get the boy broken in. He'd assumed they'd done it long since. But if he helped, there might be a chance they'd let him use him too. He'd seen him in the swimming pool sometimes. He was beautiful.

Bellamy's reaction to the thought of an injection had been extreme. They certainly didn't want him fighting, so tranquilliser was sprinkled on his meal. He didn't touch the food. When queried, he said that he didn't like it. They thought there must be a taste, although Uberto said it was tasteless.

Uberto supplied them with a different powder, that could be put in his drink. He took a sip, then left it.

"Have your drink, Henry," said Angelo. And when he pushed it away, he said very firmly, "You have to have your drink!"

Bellamy's gaze was wandering now, and he started to rise to his feet. The firm order was repeated, but he became only more upset, beginning to shake and his gaze becoming more desperate. Mario took him in his arms, and told him that he didn't have to have the drink if he didn't want to.

They used simple force then. He had to have the injection. Mario said he couldn't do it, and it was Bruno and Angelo who took him to Uberto, and held him very firmly as Uberto approached from behind, the syringe concealed, before jabbing it into his arm. He didn't fight, but sobbed instead in the arms of Bruno, watched with some contempt by Uberto. What a pitiful object. It didn't stop him wanting him.

Bellamy was better after a while when he realised that he wasn't going to sleep, and no-one was doing horrible and painful things to him. They didn't ask him what had been done to him in the past. He'd been upset enough. And in the night, he woke them all by screaming, and thrashing in his bed, trying to escape from something in his dreams. It was the first time since he'd been taken into bed with Mario that he didn't sleep quietly.

It was getting closer. Mario put another obstacle in their way. He said that Bellamy had to be told exactly what they wanted to do. Angelo protested. Surely it would be better if they just did it one day, on the massage table when he was most relaxed. Angelo thought he should not be too much warned. They compromised in the end, and one evening, as gentle hands caressed Bellamy in the spa, and Angelo held him close, Angelo told him to watch Nino and Taddeo. Nino, who was the smallest built of them, and least threatening, caressed Taddeo, who held the massage table, and leaned over in front of him.

Nino was a bit self conscious, and his erection was even less impressive than normal. A good thing, thought the onlookers. No-one could be frightened of that. But Nino achieved penetration, forgot his onlookers, and thrust harder until both of the participants gave a cry of satisfaction. They hugged, and washed each other before re-entering the spa.

Bellamy was watching, accepting. They were so good to him. He didn't think he'd like it, but if they wanted Nino to have sex with him, he'd allow it. Angelo passed him over to Mario. They all liked to hold. It was a little like he was a baby, they all wanted a hold. Mario murmured to him, "Have you ever had sex like Nino and Taddeo?"

Bellamy answered, half dreamy, still very relaxed. Even the most intimate caressing never bothered him any more, only making him feel more treasured, more loved. "A man raped me once."

Mario was surprised. He seemed so innocent, but a man had raped him. But he pulled him a touch closer, and even dropped a kiss onto his head. "No-one will rape you here, I promise - and even if it hurt that time, it never, ever hurts normally."

Angelo asked curiously, "What happened to the man who raped you? Anything?"

And Bellamy replied, perfectly casually, "I killed him."

Caressing hands froze, before continuing, rather more cautiously. Angelo asked carefully, "How exactly did you kill him, Henry?" He wasn't sure that the boy could kill, although he suddenly remembered the crew of the Marchesa. The boy could fight. Usually, when Bellamy was questioned about his past, he became upset, but this time, he was dreamy, relaxed, and answered the question.

"I killed him with my mind. When I've had to kill, I've nearly always killed with my mind."

They were relieved. It was just one of those strange things Bellamy said sometimes. Who could really kill with their minds? But they put it off just a little longer.

There was an evening when Silvio was stroking him to climax, as Bruno used his dildo to gently penetrate. He no longer made any objection to either procedure. Nino was touching, too. Their Henry wasn't as big as Bruno, but he wasn't far behind. It wasn't in the plan, but Nino suddenly spoke, "You know, you can put it in somebody, if you want."

But Bellamy was horrified, "I couldn't do that!" His erection melted away and he started to tremble. They coaxed him onto the massage table instead, and Bruno knelt between his legs, and started the gentle rubbing that was so soothing.

There was some nagging, but Mario still refused to admit that it might be time. They all so much desired him, and he was perfectly accepting now, doing what he was told, submitting to all their intimate handling. There had been no more sex in front of him since Nino had demonstrated, and Angelo suspected he might have forgotten that, as he'd forgotten the near rape in the hold of the Marchesa.

Bruno bumped his erect penis against his thighs and buttocks, as he massaged. But even when he rubbed it against Bellamy's inner thigh, where there was a faint, whitened scar, Bellamy just lay relaxed on the table. Bruno knew it was time, and looked an appeal at Mario. Mario shook his head. Soon, but Nino would go first, the small one, not Bruno. Nino, then Angelo, a little bigger, Bruno, then the twins, and last of all, himself. He wanted to be last, almost as a symbolic act, covering the traces of the others. Bellamy was his special friend, even though all would share, especially on that first evening, when he would truly become one of them.

As if it was a part of the massage, most nights, fingers rubbed the lubricant into his bottom. Fingers, and sometimes the dildo, were used to penetrate. Meantime, always, someone was at his head, caressing his forehead, smoothing hair, telling him to close his eyes, to relax. Gentle, soothing words. Bruno teased himself, touching his penis to where he wanted to insert it. God, he wanted it. It'd only take a second, and he'd be in whether Mario and Angelo said he was allowed or not. Silvio put a restraining hand on his thigh, and he groaned and pulled back, suddenly spurting all over the bottom so tempting in front of him. Bellamy started to raise his head, but Mario told him to just lie still. It was nothing. But later that night, he finally agreed it was time. The next evening.

***chapter end***


	27. Chapter 27

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note__: sex scenes in Part 2 of this story._

_Part 2/ __Chapter 14_

The day that he was to be made a full member of their group, Bellamy received more tender touching than ever before. There was always someone with him, someone working close, and at meals, he was surrounded by his group. There was an excitement within them, but Bellamy didn't seem to detect anything out of the ordinary.

They were unhurried, even now, in the spa. The relaxing hot water soothed, and voices were gentle, undemanding. There was hardly any general talk. Bellamy was unpredictable sometimes, becoming upset at odd things. They didn't want him upset tonight. Instead there was just the warm holding. They each wanted a turn tonight, as they'd have a turn a little later. And then there was the touching, becoming more intimate, until he was aroused, and the fingers moved over his bottom, inserting gently. And most of them wanted to do that, too. Meantime, voices soothed. He was being so good, he was loved, he was making his friends very happy.

Bellamy was not being hurt, and he no longer felt any uneasiness at what they did. It made them happy.

The next step was always the same. They wanted him to stand, and Mario or one of the others would hold him as he was brought to climax. The gel was caressed into his bottom, and as Silvio used his mouth on his penis, Bruno tenderly, gently, eased the small dildo into his body. There was no resistance, physical or emotional. His body was now accustomed to the penetration, and Bellamy was accepting of all that they did. They always hugged and showed joy when he climaxed. Bellamy didn't understand, but he didn't object. They could do what they wanted. They loved him, and he wanted to please them.

He was urged onto the massage table. There had been no-one else ahead of him this time, though there usually was. But there were to be six men, and even if no-one took very long, it still took time. The bolster under his pelvis, raising his bottom. Arms down by his sides, in a position that would make it more difficult to use his elbows to raise himself. Legs spread wide. He lay his head down, looking to the side, but then closing his eyes as he was told.

Mario stood beside the high table, and stroked his forehead, talking to him in the gentle, soothing voice that he scarcely heard. After the spa, after being made to climax, he was relaxed, and the skilful massage that Nino was giving him only relaxed him more. For fifteen minutes, muscles were gently kneaded, and his body stroked. Angelo was at his right side, a gentle hand on his shoulder, the other stroking down his arm. Bruno on the other side, did likewise. Taddeo had a hand on his upper thigh, and his other stroking up and down his leg. Silvio was on the other side. Bellamy had the undivided attention of six men, touching, stroking, loving. But they could also hold down, if needed.

Mario left him a moment, and handed something to Nino. He didn't even open his eyes. The gel had been warmed, and was caressed into his bottom, warmly, intimately. The dildo was again used. It was a small one, smaller than an erect penis, even Nino's.

Nino was pleased that he was small, although in his acute excitement, he was possibly bigger at this moment than he'd ever been. But his size had given him the privilege of being first. It was finally time. Nino did what they'd all been longing to do for months; he pressed his erect penis fully into their boy. Only then did Mario say in a caressing tone, "Nino is going to make love with you, now, Henry."

Gently, gently, Nino started rhythmically thrusting. Bellamy was not trying to move, although a slight frown had appeared, and his eyes were open.

"All you have to do is lie still, and you'll make Nino very happy," Mario was saying, still in that gentle, reassuring tone. Nino continued, not wanting to finish too soon. He was going to make the most of it. The others were desperately wanting their own turns, but discipline persisted, and hands gently held arms and legs, hands that could turn instantly into restraints preventing escape.

Nino finally finished, leaning panting over Bellamy for a moment, before pulling out. Bellamy started to get up, and hands immediately tightened on him. "No, no, Henry! You can't get up yet! It's Angelo's turn."

Bellamy said, "I want to get up. I don't like it."

Mario was firm. "You have to lie still. Angelo is going to make love with you." Angelo was already on the table, kneeling between his legs.

"I don't like it," said Bellamy, but he said it sadly, and stopped trying to rise from the table. Angelo was as gentle as Nino. Bellamy was not being hurt, and yet tears were beginning to trace gently down his face.

When Angelo finished, he again tried to rise, and Mario looked rather desperately at Angelo. Mario found it hard to be firm with his boy, but Angelo took his place, and Mario went to his shoulder instead, to take the place of Bruno. Angelo told Bellamy very firmly that he had to be still. It was just tonight, and then he would be truly one of them. "You want to be one of us," he was told, Angelo prudently not putting it in the form of a question. All the hands were firm on his body now. They'd come this far, they would not be stopping.

Eyes were on Bruno. His erection was impressive, and even Nino and Angelo who'd already had their turn, found a renewed excitement as they watched. As long as Bellamy lay still, there was a gentle, loving voice telling him how good he was. Silvio put out a hand to touch, as the tip of the large penis pressed in, having to push harder than the others had, making the muscles stretch further. Bruno groaned, almost a growl. He'd wanted this so long. But he remembered, slowly, gently.

For the first time, Bellamy was hurt a little, but it was not the hurt of a too-large penis that caused Bellamy's tears. Somewhere, deep inside him, there was a new wound to the spirit. He didn't know why it hurt, but it hurt. He should have been able to do such a small thing, and Angelo kept saying that it was a small thing, that he had to do it for his friends, that he was making them very happy. And Angelo said, "We look after you, you have to do this for us because we look after you."

And Bellamy's sad voice replied that he didn't think he wanted to be looked after any more. He was ignored. No-one dreamed of stopping now

. There wouldn't be all of them mostly, of course, but this first time was like an initiation. He had to have all of them this first time.

Bruno finished, and Mario checked gently for injuries. Bruno was so big, but there was no blood, no apparent injury. The twins were supposed to go next, and Bellamy was again having to be restrained. He wasn't fighting, just making moves as if to get up from the table. Again Angelo was being firm, almost severe. He was to do what he was told, he was not being hurt.

Mario couldn't wait, and said, "Me, next?" Angelo nodded. Maybe it was a good idea. He might not resist Mario as much as someone else. And when he told Bellamy that it was Mario, and that Mario was his special friend and loved him, Bellamy did lie still again, accepting it better. He'd heard the steam train noises of Mario before, this time it was his own body that he puffed over.

"Is that all?" Bellamy asked Angelo, piteously, when Mario sagged over his body, feeling a fulfilment and utter contentment.

"Just the twins," Angelo soothed him, stroking his head. "Just the twins, and then that's all."

Bellamy lay still, no longer resisting, letting his friends do what they wanted to do. But tears still trickled.

He was finally helped down from the table, and stared vacantly into the distance as he was hugged, surrounded with warmth and cuddles, then washed, and six men also washed themselves. They went back into the spa, then. They were happy, contented. It had gone very well. Bellamy had scarcely resisted, he'd not been hurt, and he showed no resentment now, as he was held tenderly by one of them after another. They chose to take no notice of his gentle trembling, and the tears that traced their way down his face. A novice was often a little upset the first time, and of course, it hadn't been just one. From now on, they'd probably just do it one at a time, and Mario, of course, probably every night in bed, with the privilege of a special friend. As Angelo had suggested a long time ago, it would be no trouble as he lay there naked, just to urge him onto his front, and take him as he chose.

They were late that night, as they kept Bellamy in the spa longer than usual, wanting him to stop trembling and look happy again. They refused to acknowledge that he might be very profoundly upset.

He went to bed with Mario that night without any problem, and lay in his arms, sharing the warmth of that so comforting, big, furry body. But he lay awake a long time, and hours later, he still trembled, although he no longer cried. Mario began to be concerned.

Mario was more concerned the following day, when he didn't touch his meals, and still trembled a large part of the time. He'd become a lot more vague too, twice having to be brought back when he wandered off, apparently aimlessly. Angelo had to talk hard to convince Mario that they shouldn't just give up. They just had to persist a little. He'd soon be used to it, and be happy again. But only Nino would have him that evening. Just one a night, until he started accepting it, as he'd accepted all the steps on the way. And Mario's suggestion that he be given a break was dismissed. Once brought to this point, they would lose everything if they allowed him to think he could stop it happening just by missing a few meals. He was like a child, said Bruno, sometimes a little discipline was needed.

Mario was silent. There was something in what they said, and besides, Mario wanted him again, too. He thought it a hopeful sign that Bellamy still accepted their caresses. He didn't shrink from any of them, not even Bruno, who might have hurt him.

But when it came time to go to the spa-room, Bellamy held back, protesting tearfully. Angelo had to be very firm before he walked properly with them. Angelo would be handling him from now on. Mario was too soft, and knew he was too soft.

In the spa, he was handed to Nino. Nino would be having him tonight, the smallest, least threatening. Just one. No matter how much the rest of them wanted, it was just to be Nino. One a night for a time, until he was more accepting. They kept telling him it was just to be one, but they were not at all sure he was taking anything in.

Nino stroked and gentled him, trying to relax him in the soothing environment of bubbling hot water. He was trembling again, and was silent, not looking at anybody. But he didn't resist as Nino's caresses became more intimate.

Nino finally said, "You have a go, Taddeo, I can't get him up." Taddeo's knowing hands were no more effective, but they proceeded to the gentle penetration of fingers anyway. He must be properly prepared; he absolutely must not be hurt. Mario was insistent on that point, and it was good policy in any case. They wanted him accepting, so they could use him when they wanted, as often as they wanted.

Bellamy looked around desperately as if for escape, as they urged him out of the spa, and for a moment, they were afraid he'd start to fight. They didn't bother trying to make him climax, Angelo saying they'd try it afterward, when he was more relaxed. Instead, he was pushed into position on the massage table, Angelo having to be very firm. He was crying again, not sobbing, just those gentle tears tracing down his face. And still, he trembled.

Nino massaged again, trying to relax him. Hands held him firmly. Nino was feeling guilty, but the excitement took over once he started rubbing in the warmed gel, and using the dildo in preparation. He couldn't see Bellamy's face, and chose not to remember that he cried. Just once, Bellamy tried to revolt, but Angelo's voice took on a very firm note, and four men's hands constrained him. They were his friends, and he could not fight them. He sighed and lay down his head. They were relieved, and Nino began the act that may not have hurt Bellamy, but yet hurt him very much indeed.

Afterward, he was helped down from the massage table, hugged and praised for his good behaviour, and then, Mario holding him, Taddeo again tried to arouse some excitement. He should feel it as sexual, too. Bellamy just stared into the distance, trembling, and tears still ran. They gave up after a while, and just washed him before he was urged back into the spa.

Nino held him a long time, feeling him trembling. He wondered if he should have done it, but a renewed tingling made him aware that he'd do it straightaway again if he could. And he dropped a kiss on the head and held him a little tighter. He'd get used to it in a while.

After having just the one man, and very gentle, Mario thought that Bellamy would be better. But he slept badly again, and the following day made no moves to eat. Even when strongly urged, he only raised a spoonful and put it down again. He wasn't doing it deliberately to play up, as Bruno suggested. He couldn't eat. He'd become very vague and no longer spoke.

There was to be Angelo that evening, and again, they tried to get him aroused, Angelo cuddling him close in the spa, and murmuring to him soothingly. But they were unable to produce any sexual response in him at all, for all their skilful manipulation.

He looked around in panic as they urged him toward the massage table, protesting, crying, pulling back. Mario held him close a moment, his big hand cradling his boy's head to his chest. But it was only a moment, and it was Mario who said sternly, "No more nonsense now, Henry! Do as you're told!"

Once they had Bellamy in position on the table, Bruno stayed at his head to talk to him - to praise him when he lay still, to soothe and reassure, or to keep him under control when needed. Mario was too soft, and when Bellamy moved suddenly, fretfully, Bruno told him very severely, almost harshly, that he had to do as he was told, he had to lie still. Mario looked away, but he, too, had tightened his grip at that movement. Bellamy no longer relaxed into the massage, just lay tense and trembling.

Angelo was very gentle, as they all had been, and they thought that surely he'd accept it better now. Only one, and he wasn't being hurt. And in the spa, afterward, Angelo held him with tenderness, and told him that - they were not hurting him.

Bellamy stared into the distance, and after a while, said, very quietly and sadly, "I am hurt."

That night, the distressed mutterings in his sleep were again heard, and Mario held him gently, and felt for him. But no-one else thought they should stop. Just one each night, and he'd soon get accustomed to it. Novices were often a little upset just at first. They wanted him too much to give up easily, and once they stopped, they'd certainly never get him to the point again.

Bruno and Taddeo were with him the following day, when he stood at the railings staring at the coast in the distance. He put a foot on the railing, and then the other. Bruno, suddenly alarmed, grabbed him and pulled him down. But Bruno was to be tonight, and Taddeo wanted him again, too. They said nothing to Angelo, and especially not Mario. They kept a very careful eye on him, though, from then on.

When they took off his clothes that evening in the spa-room, Mario caressed ribs and remarked, "He's getting too thin."

Bellamy was not eating, and trembled almost continuously. There had been such a deterioration in him that a couple felt they should stop. He seemed undeniably feeble-minded now, although they'd begun to think it was something quite different wrong with him, a 'crazy man,' like he said himself, perhaps. But Angelo insisted that he'd soon get used to it and be happy again. Sex was good. He would learn to enjoy it.

Once in the spa, Bellamy was told to go to Bruno, who would hold him a while. Bruno held him tenderly and caressed his body. And Bruno wiped away the tears, and tried to soothe him with a gentle voice. Bellamy dropped his head against Bruno's shoulder, and Bruno held him a touch closer.

He gave less trouble this time, even though he still trembled, and his face still ran with tears. But Angelo kissed his cheek as he lay on the table, and talked to him with gentle voice and caressing hand. Mario, along with everyone else, held him firmly. They were unhappy that he still trembled and cried, but doubts were put aside when they saw Bruno preparing to enter his body. The big man penetrating the boy they all so much desired was too much for them. And they told themselves again that novices were often a little upset just at first, and that Bellamy would have to start eating again soon. No-one starved themselves to death when food was available.

Mario was no exception. He'd come so close to taking him the previous night, without any careful preparation, just pushing him on his front, and raping him. They still maintained to themselves that what they were doing was not rape; seduction maybe. Once Bruno was finished, Mario said that he was going to have a go, too, although Angelo shook his head at the twins when they put in a claim. Bellamy just lay still, as his friends did what they wanted to do.

But afterward, he sobbed bitterly in Mario's arms, and could not be comforted. And that night he screamed in a nightmare, and later slipped out of bed, and would have left the room if Bruno hadn't had the door locked. He paced a while then, until Mario first took him to the toilet, pretending to himself that was all that was needed, and then took him back to bed, and held him close as he trembled and cried.

That was enough. And Mario told the others early the next morning. No more. His boy was not getting accustomed to it, and he was not allowing anyone to do anything to him any more. And he told Bellamy that they wouldn't be going to the spa-room that night. He wasn't sure whether Bellamy had taken it in, though. He'd become so vague, as if he lived somewhere else.

The next day was the same as the days before. Bellamy still stared away at nothing, wandered off when not watched, and was pulled away from the railings. At meal times, when urged, he might pick up a fork, but would then put it down again. Mario took him to bed early, but Bellamy started to shake more and more as the time came when they usually took him to the spa-room.

At last Mario guessed his fear, and reassured him again. "We're not going to the spa-room tonight, Henry."

"Not?"

"Not," Mario answered firmly, and at last, the trembling started to die away. Mario's body was still warm and comforting for him, and he still wriggled his own body just a little closer in an innocent action that Mario always found so devastatingly sexual. He'd had him twice now, but only seemed to want him more. But the big man begged Bruno for aid instead, when he found himself unable to sleep, too much filled with wanting.

Each day, he had to reassure Bellamy that they would not be going to the spa-room that day. A few of the others did, playing as if it was their Henry on the massage table, even holding him down as the man on the table pretended to resist. Bruno got himself into trouble with Silvio, when his fantasy took over, and he was far too vigorous. And even though no others held him, Silvio discovered that he couldn't throw him off when in that vulnerable position. At least Bruno was quick.

He was very apologetic afterward, but wasn't forgiven until the following night, when he had to get onto the table himself, and was used, one by one, by the other five. And Bruno discovered that he didn't like it much either, not after the first couple. He put up with it. Silvio had bled and was still sore. So Bruno lay on the table and made reparation.

It all added to the excitement, but they still wanted the traumatised boy. They felt a little aggrieved, too. They'd tried so hard to make it a gentle and easy seduction, and now he was acting as if he'd been violated! Except that he still accepted their touching - if they still felt like touching. Some felt as if they'd been cheated.

Bellamy was finally beginning to eat again. Mario was very relieved. He hadn't liked seeing him so thin, looking too much like the terrified boy he'd first met.

Uberto had been observing from a distance, and although it had not been discussed, had a fair idea of what was happening.

When Angelo sat alone, Uberto joined him, and asked how it was going. Angelo said briefly, "Given up."

Uberto asked for more details. Angelo was quite thoroughly annoyed. After all their careful planning, after having a massage table specially made for the project, they'd had to give it up. He saw Mario's point - the boy had taken it very badly, although for no good reason that he could see.

"Why don't you try tranquilliser?" casually asked Uberto. "He'll feel all dreamy, won't resist, and probably won't even remember in the morning." He added, looking at where Mario sat with Bellamy not far away, "He needs a dose of tranquilliser every day in any case. He trembles too much!"

Angelo was considering it, but then said, "You know what he was like with the REF injection. How would we get it into him?"

"A tablet every morning, and just tell him he has to take it," suggested Uberto. "Get him into a nicely tranquillised state, then bring him to me for an injection just for the first night, and you can all have him again."

Angelo consulted with Bruno. Bruno thought that it was worth another try, and he added, "I've gone hard just thinking about having him again." Angelo grinned. It was a bit like that with him, too. The twins had only had him once each, and definitely wanted another chance. Nino, too. But when Angelo put it to Mario, it was only to suggest that a small dose of tranquilliser every day might do wonders for Bellamy, who was still a very long way from his normal self. Mario nodded regretfully. They'd done a lot of harm.

The others knew to keep ultimate plans quiet, and only commented on Bellamy's improvement after he was supposedly taking the tablets. But Bellamy didn't like tablets. He apparently took each as ordered, and then surreptitiously spat them out afterward. He was getting better, but it was only because each day Mario reassured him that he would not be going to the spa-room that day.

After ten days' daily dose of tablets, and after Bruno, Nino and all the others had deliberately and consistently refused Mario his requests for sex, Mario was more amenable to the idea of having another go. Uberto would have to have a go too, in return for the drugs, which, he said, he could get into trouble for taking. But even this Mario agreed to, when Uberto explained that Bellamy would be almost asleep, would almost certainly forget what had occurred, and yet be in a happy, dreamy state that would allow him to feel it as something good, and accept it more easily every night.

Mario wanted to be persuaded. He still resisted the temptation to take the boy as he slept beside him, but he did, indeed, like all the rest, want him. There had been too much buildup. Each day's delay had only fed their desire, which had gone past sense or ethics.

Bellamy was quiet, vague. They thought he was tranquillised with the daily dose he'd been taking every morning. But when Bruno and Angelo held him tight, and Uberto administered an injection from behind, he spun around and knocked Uberto to the floor. Uberto stared at him with animosity, caressing his bruised face, but Bruno and Angelo had him again, and Angelo was rebuking him sternly. Uberto remembered what he'd shortly be doing to him, and he smiled.

Bellamy stumbled as they took him to the spa-room, supported by Mario on one side, and Bruno on the other. His head was spinning, and there had been a muscle relaxant component in the drug that Uberto had chosen, as well. There would be no need for gentle preparation for penetration. He would be already sufficiently relaxed.

Uberto was already there, waiting. He was to go first. But Bellamy gave a cry of rage and fought to get at him. Uberto ducked back, and Mario and Bruno forcibly turned Bellamy away. Uberto had a quick word with Angelo, and then vanished out the door.

Angelo waited at the door for his return as Bellamy was undressed, still protesting. His knees were buckling and he was becoming quieter now that Uberto was not in sight.

Uberto returned, but hung back, out of Bellamy's vision. Mario and Bruno held an arm each, supporting the drugged boy. Angelo took Mario's place, and said to Bruno, "Hold him firmly now!" and he turned his head, and nodded to Uberto. At the new pinprick in his bottom, Bellamy managed to tear away from Bruno and hit out at Uberto, but only grazing him and falling down himself, unbalanced, uncoordinated. Uberto stood, smiling, looking down at him, but Mario gathered his boy up in his arms and cradled him, trying to reassure him that no-one was going to hurt him.

"About fifteen minutes for maximum effect," said Uberto, "And he's had a strong dose now, it'll last several hours." Uberto was smiling. They could each have as many goes as they wanted. It would make no difference to Bellamy, who'd be almost comatose.

Mario gave him a look of hostility and he and Bruno helped Bellamy into the spa. Mario cradled his boy gently and murmured soothingly as Bellamy put a tired head on his chest and closed his eyes. The big hand gently stroked his head, soothing, reassuring. But hidden under the bubbling water, Mario had as large an erection as anyone but Bruno.

Bellamy seemed all but unconscious when they tried to get him out of the water, and Mario carried him over to the massage table, Bruno helping arrange limbs and get him into position. Uberto admired his position on the table, so available, so vulnerable. Mario's hand still gently stroked his head, and there were four men to hold.

"Perfect," Uberto smiled, and caressed the exposed, raised bottom. He was ready, but Angelo told him to wait, and quite tenderly smeared in the lubricant. Even in this state, Bellamy should not be hurt.

Uberto had no trouble with entry, but as he thrust, Bellamy started muttering and struggling.

"Hold him still!" Uberto panted, and Mario told Bellamy sternly that he had to be still. But then Uberto was pushing in harder and losing his rhythm as he climaxed. It hadn't taken long. Bellamy was trying to twist out of the grasp of those who held him, not starting to settle down until Uberto pulled out and was no longer in contact.

But Uberto reached out and caressed the bottom that he planned to have another go at shortly and Bellamy gave an incoherent cry of protest. He tried again to get up, held down firmly by the men, and further constrained by Angelo's firm voice telling him that he must lie still, he was only going to be massaged for a while until he settled down. Nino gave the best massage, and Nino was given the nod. Nino did as ordered, gently inducing a renewed state of relaxation, considerably helped by the double dose of tranquilliser.

By the time Nino entered him, Bellamy was apparently asleep, and made no protest when Nino was followed by Bruno, and then the twins. Mario took him then, and Angelo. He lay apparently relaxed, unmoving, but Mario suddenly noticed that tears were again trickling from his closed eyes. With a tender gesture, he wiped away the tears, and leaned over him, kissing his cheek, telling him he was being a very good boy. Bellamy made no movement.

"Seconds?" asked Uberto.

Mario said, "You upset him, I don't think you should come near."

Uberto frowned. "You wouldn't want it to get around, would you, what you're doing to an innocent boy?"

Mario looked at Angelo. Angelo said, "He's asleep. It makes no difference to him how many tonight."

Mario looked away, and Angelo nodded to Uberto. But as Uberto's hands started handling his body, Bellamy started fretting again. And as soon as Uberto started to penetrate, he heaved himself up from the table, in spite of the gripping hands, and tried to swing at him, but falling right off the table instead. He knelt on the floor for a moment, shaking his head, trying to clear away the dizziness and confusion. Uberto started to say something, but stopped at the cry of rage from Bellamy, and now Bellamy was trying to attack him again.

"Get out!" said Angelo, but Uberto only retreated to the far corner of the room. Bellamy held himself upright, holding onto the table, and moved his head, searching for Uberto. From his actions, they suspected he couldn't see very well. Sensibly, Uberto kept quiet.

Mario spoke quietly, gently, soothingly, telling him that Uberto was gone, and that only his friends were left, his friends who loved him. Even Mario was just the vaguest of blurs, but Bellamy said, "Mario?" in a slurred voice, and Mario took him again in his arms. He made no move to fight Mario, and didn't even resist when he was again laid across the bolster that raised his bottom ready for sex.

Bruno massaged him for a while, before, as gently as possible, entering, and thrusting to climax for a second time. The others followed, while Uberto watched hungrily.

Mario was the last, and again Bellamy was apparently asleep. They had to lift him from the table, and a gentle washer wiped away the traces of sex, Mario relieved to see that, after so many times, there was still no trace of injury, and then he was carefully handed down into the spa. They wanted to just hold him a while. It might wipe away the memory of rape, too, although none of them were yet ready to acknowledge that it might have been a rape.

Uberto slipped quietly into the spa as well, not speaking, as his voice might be the trigger for an attack. Bellamy was cradled by Mario for a while, but each of them wanted to hold and stroke. Bellamy made no objection, opening his eyes blearily sometimes, but just laying his head on a new shoulder, as they handed him on. Silently, Uberto held out his hands in an unmistakable request. Taddeo had him, and was hesitant. But Angelo wanted Uberto kept as happy as possible, and nodded.

Uberto thought it amazing that Bellamy was showing any signs of consciousness at all. One dose should have been enough, and he'd had two. For a little, Bellamy lay in the arms of Uberto, and Uberto stroked down his flanks, not touching him sexually which might disturb him, just gently admiring the beautiful build of the man, caressing the shoulders and upper arms, that showed the fine definition of strong muscle, without the ugly bulkiness of a muscle man.

Bellamy still had his eyes closed, but was beginning to frown, and Mario watched him uneasily, and held out his own hands, "Give him to me," he said, with some urgency in his voice.

Uberto hesitated, he wanted to hold him a little longer. Bellamy pulled himself more upright, shaking his head again, and looking around, but he was so obviously drug affected that they doubted whether he could see at all.

Mario stood, and took him from Uberto, cradling him again in his arms. Bellamy looked around again, squinting, but Mario touched his hand over his eyes, and said compellingly, "Go to sleep, Henry. You're with your friends, who love you." Uberto watched regretfully, but wasn't foolish enough to speak. Bellamy raised a hand and caressed the wet fur of Mario. It was Mario, whom he slept with, and he nestled against him and went to sleep.

***chapter end***


	28. Chapter 28

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note__: sex scenes in Part 2 of this story_

Part 2/_Chapter 15_

Bellamy was very sleepy in the morning, when they tried to get him up. If it would not arouse curiosity, he would have been left, but no-one wanted others asking questions. He had to be helped, as he kept staggering, always, for some reason, to the left. But they got him up and into the showers, and Mario held him as Angelo soaped him.

Angelo marvelled at himself. He'd had him twice last night, and wanted him again, and he suggested to Mario, that he was still so dopey, he wouldn't feel it if they had another go now. Bruno in the corner, looked up hopefully, his penis already hardening. But Mario said no, they'd leave him alone this morning.

"All right for you," Angelo said, "You had him again in the night. I heard you!"

But Mario said there was not enough time in any case. Poor Bruno had to look after himself - his acute arousal would have been too obvious otherwise, even dressed.

The twins had dismantled the bed on the floor, and made up the bunks for Mario. There were inspections every now and then, and it was never left. There was no point taking Bellamy to breakfast, so they just lay him down on his bunk for the time being. They'd dress him when they came back. Prudently, they locked him in. He was shielded from scrutiny as much as possible that morning, and they succeeded in keeping his state away from the notice of others.

Uberto asked about him, and suggested that he be made to take one of his tablets that night, which should be enough of a top up for another session. He didn't ask to join in, to their relief. Maybe when they had him thoroughly trained.

Bellamy didn't touch his lunch, although he was beginning to look a lot less sleepy, and no longer staggered. He didn't speak, but he was not trembling or crying either. They thought he might have forgotten that anything had occurred the previous night. He showed no grudge, and accepted their touching and caresses. He was working more easily by the afternoon, too.

At afternoon tea time, they were standing around on the Crew Deck, drinking coffee. Even Bellamy was drinking coffee. Without warning, Bellamy set down his coffee, crossed to the railing, and dived into the water, swimming fast away from the ship, as Mario bellowed after him. They threw a lifebelt, but Bellamy was perfectly deliberately swimming toward the shore, roughly five miles distant. He'd been dressed by the others that morning, and for once, had neither his passport nor his moneybelt on him. But he was going ashore. As soon as he cleared the ship, he paused in the water, and cast aside shoes and clothing, leaving on only underpants, before methodically starting again on his long swim. He was going ashore.

Captain Guido was furious when he had to delay his journey because some fool had jumped overboard, presumably trying to kill himself. And it took a while to slow the big ship, and turn. He wished he could just abandon the man, who was probably drowned by now in any case.

The ship's boat searched for Bellamy. Mario was with them, and Nino, acutely anxious. They searched the pattern as laid down by the officer. Relatively close to where he'd left the ship. There was no sign of Bellamy. After a long time, the officer yielded to Mario's begging, and extended their search. "He swims very well!" Mario kept insisting. "He would have been heading to shore."

The Captain, watching from the ship, wondered what his boat's crew thought they were doing, going so far. The conditions were choppy; it was very unlikely the man would have got that far. He still inclined to the belief that it was a suicide attempt - a very inconvenient one. The ships rails were lined with passengers, and he very much disliked that, too. He gave orders, and two more boats were lowered, searching closer to the ship. The passengers were excited, treating it as a diversion. A crewman had jumped overboard, reasons unknown.

It was only when Nino added his persuasions to Mario's, that the searching boat went far enough that Bellamy was spotted, smoothly stroking through the restless sea, still a couple of miles from shore.

Competently, they went into the drilled procedure, pulling alongside the swimmer, and throwing the lifebelt. Bellamy ignored it, and swam on. Again and again they tried, the one in charge becoming very angry indeed at the uncooperative man who refused to be rescued. A strong seaman leaned over, and tried to grab hold of him.

Bellamy dived, confusing them, and they looked around for five minutes before he was discovered the other side of the boat, still determinedly heading for shore. They didn't quite know what to do next. Mario was calling to him, Nino too. But it was only when Mario begged in a despairing voice, "Henry, Please!" that he turned and looked up. He backed off a little as the boat was steered closer, and looked back in the direction of the ship, and then towards the shore. But another plea from Mario swung the balance, and he allowed them to pull him out of the water.

Mario took him in his arms, holding him close. A blanket was handed over, and the cold, nearly nude body was wrapped in the blanket, and then held again by Mario. Watching the pair, the boat's crew made a very accurate guess as to the reason for the flight. Nino tried to warn Mario, looking hard at him, and flicking his eyes to the crew, but Mario took no notice, just cradling his boy whom he thought he'd lost.

The Captain met the boat's crew as they brought Bellamy back. Mario held him as he started to shiver, and helped support him as he tried to walk. Guido ordered him to take Bellamy to the doctor, and frowned after them. Passengers pointed and stared, but crew had been sent about their business. Guido had a word with the boat's officer, and then turned to go after Bellamy. This had to be investigated. He knew that homosexuality went on among the crew, but as long as it was discreet, it was seldom a problem. But this was the traumatised boy who'd been taken off the Marchesa, and now, he suspected, something similar might have happened again.

By the time Guido entered the small hospital room, Bellamy had collapsed in a faint, and been picked up by Mario. He was still betraying himself, but it was love that Guido saw, rather than lust. Esta also saw his feeling for the boy, but was more suspicious. The boy was discernibly thinner than he'd been last time Mario had brought him for a checkup, and that was months ago. Mario was instructed to put him on a bed, and then told to leave.

Guido said abruptly, "Check for rape!"

Esta raised her voice. "Uberto," and it was Uberto who peeled off the wet underpants, and helped turn Bellamy so that she could look for the abrasions that could indicate rape.

"No signs of trauma," she said to Guido, in a matter-of-fact tone. There were no pathology facilities on board, and she didn't do any other checks.

Bellamy appeared to be in a deep faint, to the acute relief of Uberto, who bore a bruise down his left cheek. "I think he's just exhausted," said Esta, after briefly checking pulse and blood pressure. "He doesn't even seem particularly cold, surprisingly."

Guido said heavily, "He was trying to kill himself, just swimming until he drowned, I presume."

Uberto said, "Into bed?"

Esta nodded, and Uberto, aided after a moment by Guido, put him into bed, still naked. Guido looked at him thoughtfully. He was a beautiful boy, and he reached down and touched a scar on the shoulder. Esta showed him something else, the white bracelet scars around his wrists. Guido shook his head. An innocent, simple-minded boy, and he'd quite obviously been subjected to some considerable cruelty in the past, and probably again just recently, to make him do such a thing.

Six cabin mates were congregated in their TV room. They were very quiet.

Nino asked tentatively, "Do you think he'll tell them?"

Bruno spoke roughly, "What's to tell? Sex isn't a crime."

"Rape's a crime," said Angelo, grimly.

Bruno was inclined to be indignant. "We never raped him. We were always gentle. He hardly even resisted, except for Uberto once, and that was stopped!"

Angelo spoke gravely. "We can't lie to ourselves, even if we lie to others. Henry was raped, if not from the first, then, quite definitely, last night, when we drugged him." And he added again, very definitely, "We raped him."

Mario's head dropped lower. It was his boy whom he loved, and he'd raped him.

They went on to the next point. "Do you think he'll tell them?"

Angelo shrugged. He might not. If he did, they were gone. But they agreed that if anyone asked why he was so upset as to jump into the sea, they'd say it was because they were closely questioning him about his past. He was so young that they thought he might have parents somewhere, acutely worried about him. But they hadn't found out anything, and had only made Bellamy very upset. They were very sorry. And they worked over their story, clarifying details, ensuring that everyone knew who was supposed to have said what. It would be better remembered than most real conversations.

Another long silence developed, broken by Taddeo. "I wonder how he always knew when it was Uberto."

Captain Guido was finished dinner before he had the message he'd been waiting for. Bellamy was awake and ready to be questioned.

"Peter?" he asked the First Officer, who was to join them. Rape was a very serious matter.

Guido, Inglis, and Esta surrounded Bellamy, now dressed, and standing with his back to the wall, staring away from them and looking vague. Uberto lurked close by, in a store room, listening hard. Uberto had not only raped, he'd stolen dangerous drugs. And there were no ties of friendship between himself and Bellamy, in spite of the unfamiliar tenderness he'd felt the previous evening, as he'd held him afterward. Uberto was very worried.

Bellamy was subjected to a persistent and close questioning, first by Guido, and then Inglis had a go. But he turned an unfocused gaze onto them, and either said nothing, or that he didn't know.

Esta tried then. "Has someone done something to you that you didn't like?"

At last, there was a sort of a definite answer. He said he didn't think so.

Guido frowned at him. He saw Uberto close, and ordered, "Get Mario - and say nothing of what you've heard."

Guido was beginning to lose his patience, forgetting his pity for the boy. He'd caused four hours delay, and that was not a small matter. And it was beginning to look as if he'd had no reason for his action - just a random impulse from a feeble-minded boy.

Mario came in, and they watched for Bellamy's reaction. Uberto cautiously stayed away in case Bellamy thought of attacking him again. But Bellamy looked up with an obvious relief when he saw Mario, and started moving toward him. Guido ordered him quite harshly to stay where he was. Bellamy stayed where he was. Mario was questioned then, about what might have upset Bellamy, and Mario gave the prepared story. Bellamy's unfocused gaze wandered.

Guido frowned, and he started himself questioning Bellamy about his past. At first, Bellamy only looked sad and confused, but then he started trembling, and became more and more upset as he persisted, confirming Mario's story in the eyes of Guido. At last he finished, but leaving Bellamy violently trembling, and with tears on his face.

Esta still had her doubts, and she didn't think that Bellamy was feeble-minded, either. When Guido finished, she went to him, looked at him straight, and said, "Henry, were you raped?"

Bellamy vague gaze wandered for a moment, until he seemed to find her, and then, to her surprise, he said, quite definitely and sensibly, "I was not raped."

Guido, Inglis and Esta all spoke German, and now Guido used German, in an aside to Esta, "We'll have to hand him over to the authorities at the next port. He'll have to be committed."

Bellamy looked up in alarm, and took a couple of steps toward Mario, his friend.

"What is it, Henry?" Mario asked.

Bellamy's fear was betrayed as he spoke; "He says he'll have me committed!"

Mario went to him, wrapping an arm around him protectively, and looking at his Captain accusingly, "We take care of him. He's a good worker, and he won't do anything like that again."

Bellamy still stared at the Captain, fearfully.

Guido felt guilty. He was surprised, too. Not many retarded people could speak a second language, and he remembered that Bellamy was English, so that even Italian must have been a second language. And he hadn't missed that moment of normality when Bellamy had stated that he'd not been raped. It was as if, for a moment, a different person had made an appearance. Guido spoke again in German, just to confirm, giving a simple order, telling him to stand beside the bed. Bellamy left Mario, though with discernible reluctance, and stood beside the bed. So all right, Bellamy could speak German. It didn't really mean anything, and Guido was tired of the trouble-maker anyway. So Guido used the Italian they were all familiar with, told Bellamy he wouldn't be committed if he made no more trouble, and said that he could go. Bellamy very quickly went, Mario with him.

Mario's only words as they left was a question whether he'd had any dinner yet. But Bellamy was still trembling, and didn't answer. Mario took a glance at him, thought he probably wouldn't eat anyway, but took him past the kitchen, and begged some sandwiches, before taking him back to their own little TV room.

The others had heard from Uberto that Bellamy didn't seem to be saying anything, but were still relieved when he appeared with Mario. They wouldn't have sent him back to them if he'd been talking.

Taddeo and Silvio were sitting together, as they mostly did. They had a taped film on, and appeared to be watching it, trying not to stare at Bellamy. Angelo had his shrewd eyes on him, but he said nothing either. Bellamy was silent, staying close to Mario. He couldn't be coaxed to eat, but seemed happy enough to sit next to Mario, Mario's arms around his shoulders.

At ten o'clock, Angelo went off to clean the spas, as was his job. Bellamy looked after him, and Mario noticed his tension, and gave him a squeeze. "We won't be going to the spa-room tonight, Henry," he said, and added, "Not tonight, not ever again."

Bellamy's eyes anxiously queried, "Not ever again?"

"Not ever again." His voice was gently reassuring. Bellamy's trembling died down, and when Mario squeezed him, he dropped his head on his shoulder and slept. He was so tired.

Bruno watched him with more of a regret than the others. They had all wanted him, but for Bruno, the big man, it had somehow seemed even more of a privilege. Now they'd never have him again. "Would you like me to make up the bed on the floor, Mario?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mario said doubtfully, looking at Angelo. "He might prefer his own bed now."

Angelo gave his verdict. "If you're strong enough not to have sex with him, he'll probably prefer to sleep with you. It did him good from the start."

Mario gently stroked the head of the sleeping boy. They knew he was not good at making decisions, and would probably only start trembling again if they tried to get him to decide. As it had before, Mario's own wishes influenced the decision, and he said to Bruno, "Yes, please, I'd be grateful if you make up the bed - I'll bring Henry in a little while."

Nino helped Bruno, and suggested, "We could always go to the spa-room ourselves,"

Bruno grinned. "Now?"

When they put their heads back into the TV room though, Mario asked them to wait a few minutes, and woke Bellamy to put him to bed.

As soon as Mario rejoined the group, he told them what they most needed to know. "He told them he was not raped. I believe it was accepted."

There were sighs of relief, though they'd been fairly certain they were in the clear ever since Bellamy rejoined them.

"We have to make sure he doesn't do it again, though. The Captain was talking about having him committed."

Bruno had his arm around Nino. "We're going to find Angelo, we'll tell him."

It was a half hour before they returned with Angelo, and then they talked a long time. Bellamy would not be left alone, they'd try to keep him away from the railings, or at least hold his arm if he went close, and he'd always be locked in the bedroom at night, and whenever he was alone, even if it was an inconvenience for the rest of them.

They were more convinced of the necessity for that when they found Bellamy fully dressed, and pacing the floor. They suspected he was only still there because Mario had locked the door. Mario asked him then whether he preferred his own bed. Bellamy looked at him, frightened but wordless. He wanted Mario. He wanted the warmth and comfort of his body that pushed away the pain within him.

Angelo was watching him closely. "You want to sleep with Mario, don't you?"

Bellamy nodded with relief. He wanted to sleep with Mario. And when Mario joined him in bed, and wrapped his arm around him, he snuggled into the warm, furry body, sighed deeply, and slept. Mario's arm tightened around him, and it was Mario's face that ran with tears. He had his boy back, though he didn't deserve it. He didn't even have to wake Nino or Bruno that night, his tenderness greater than his wanting.

***chapter end***


	29. Chapter 29

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Note__: sex scenes in Part 2 of this story_

_Part 2/__Chapter 16_

Over the next days, Bellamy remained silent, and too often trembled. Every evening, he'd look at Mario with an anxious, unspoken question, and Mario would reassure him that they wouldn't be going to the spa-room that night, or ever again. The others had lost a lot of interest in him now that he was no longer potentially available for sex, but felt a responsibility, as well as an affection. He was well guarded, and had no opportunity to dive into the water again. He was beginning to eat again, and Esta was pleased that he seemed calmer, but told Mario that he was to bring him to see her every week for a while, as he'd done when he'd first joined them.

The six men had kept very much to themselves while their obsession with Bellamy had gripped them, but over the next weeks, they circulated more, and Bellamy began to be better known by others of the crew. But there was always at least one of the six with him, more usually two, both to make sure he didn't jump overboard again, and to ensure he didn't talk too freely - not that there was ever much fear of that with Bellamy.

Three weeks after his bid to leave the ship, Mario and Angelo watched him with a great deal of relief, as he laughed and played with the twins in the swimming pool.

"He smiles again," said Mario. And that night, Nino shampooed the long hair, and afterwards dried it and combed it out. They were touching him again, but there was a different quality in the touching, and it no longer strayed into the sexual. The penalty for rape was severe, and they'd had a close call. Angelo sometimes wondered how much further the investigation would have gone if Bellamy had shown any injury, such as the mild tear that Bruno had left Silvio with. Or, of course, if Bellamy had not so decisively said that he'd not been raped.

As the weeks went by, Bellamy became more alert, and people might have forgotten that he was supposed to be retarded, except that his gaze was still always slightly unfocused, making him seem younger than he was, vulnerable. Every night, he snuggled into the warmth of Mario's big, warm body, and the contact pushed back the great pain that was within him. The clouds of confusion had protected him from the pain, but were no longer so much needed. He still didn't know his past, although stray and confusing memories would sometimes surface. He remembered none of the people of his past, but sometimes he remembered the animals. Dogs - Tammy, Dobes, and horses - a mare called Sheba, and one called Mischief. Others. But when and where he'd known them were always hidden in the mists.

Often, when in port, some of the cabin-mates would visit a brothel. For most it was a rare treat - too expensive. They didn't dream of taking Bellamy, and he was still not allowed off the Crew Deck by himself, and certainly not allowed onshore by himself. He was notorious after his swim, and even those of the crew who'd scarcely spoken to him, kept an eye on him, mostly a fairly benign eye. Some were critical or contemptuous of the imbecile. They all knew who he was.

Even in Morocco, a predominantly Muslim country, there was a brothel, which Bruno highly recommended. They rarely visited Casablanca, and the cabin-mates decided to go on the all day tour the passengers were to enjoy. It took some arranging for them all to get the day off together, but it was arranged. Bellamy was to be left behind. His tendency to wander off was a nuisance, and afterward, they were all going to the famous brothel.

Mario took Bellamy to Chivas that morning, and left him in his charge. Bellamy worked that day with two men he scarcely knew. He was less comfortable, and almost silent, but worked methodically and well. Chivas approved. At the other end of the hold, more freight was being loaded. Inglis, the First Officer, was having language problems. A Moroccan was speaking volubly, waving his arms and raising his voice, as if that might aid communication. Half a dozen Arab labourers stood around sullenly. Inglis looked around in desperation. He was getting nowhere.

A voice spoke beside him. "They're saying they won't load it because it might have pork in it."

Inglis looked stunned at the man who was supposed to be simple. "You speak Arabic?"

Chivas suddenly noticed that Bellamy was gone, and came striding after him. The big freight deck was wide open to the wharf, an easy escape, but no place for a man who needed looking after. But to Inglis, Bellamy was a godsend, and all the rest of the day, he was beside him, interpreting. He knew more than the language, too. The religious problems with the non-existent pork were overcome with an extra allowance, as Bellamy had somehow known they would be.

Chivas found it a lot harder to keep a watch on Bellamy, but Inglis told him he'd take responsibility. Chivas was doubtful. Inglis didn't seem to him to be watching him nearly closely enough. But after all, Bellamy was showing no inclination to go ashore. He'd gone to the railing after a tea-break, but when Chivas went to him, he'd only commented on the filth in the water, and pointed, "There's a dead man down there." Chivas could see nothing, but the comment made it seem most unlikely that he'd be jumping overboard.

Captain Guido came to check up on the nearly completed work late that afternoon, and Inglis commended Bellamy. "Henry speaks the language - and very well."

Bellamy was staring away from Guido. His threat to have him committed had been several weeks ago, but was not forgotten.

Guido guessed at his fear, and spoke gently, "It's all right, Henry, You've done well."

They finished late, and Chivas made sure that Bellamy went to his room. Bellamy seemed quite comfortable without the close attention of his friends, only showering and changing, and dropping his work clothing of the day into the laundry basket. Mario had said that Bellamy should be locked in whenever he was left alone, but Chivas wasn't intending to do that yet, and stayed with him, even taking him with him as he went to his own cabin to shower and change for dinner. They went to the large recreation room afterwards, until a message came from the Captain. Bellamy was to present himself in his white uniform, and join him at the Captain's table for dinner. There were language problems. Chivas looked doubtfully at the simple boy, but had to admit he hadn't seemed simple that day.

To Guido's surprise, Bellamy seemed perfectly comfortable in the First Class dining room, and translated whenever required, easily and fluently. It was only when the Moroccan started questioning him on his own account that he became observably uncomfortable, until the man desisted. The dinner extended, and Bellamy was still on translating duties through the evening, as the small gathering relaxed in some deck chairs next to one of the swimming pools.

The Captain's guests left late. Captain Guido thanked Bellamy, and dismissed him, wondering if he ever smiled.

Bellamy was unfamiliar with much of the ship, as he was never allowed anywhere but the Crew Deck except in company. But he found his way back all right, hearing some loud cheering from the recreation room, but looking for the warmth of his own cabin. It wasn't there. He wandered up and down the corridor where he'd been so often, and felt for it with his senses. His cabin wasn't there. In the end, disconsolate, he wandered off, and sat on the open deck, all alone.

Chivas checked his cabin later, to make sure that he was all right, remembering, guiltily, that he was supposed to be locked in. He wasn't there, and Inglis told him that the Captain's guests had left an hour ago. He finally found him curled up in a small alcove on the open deck, asleep. He woke him, and asked, "Why aren't you in your own cabin?"

Bellamy replied simply that it was gone.

To Chivas, he'd seemed so normal all day, that he'd stopped worrying about him. It seemed that Mario knew him better than he did. Even when he led Bellamy back to his own cabin, Bellamy looked around sadly, and said, "This is not my cabin,"

"What do you mean, it's not your cabin?" demanded Chivas.

"My cabin is warm," explained Bellamy. "This is not my cabin," and turned to wander off.

Chivas was getting exasperated. "It's your cabin. Look, here are your things. There is your bed."

Bellamy was looking increasingly vague, and stared into the distance.

Chivas said, "Look, it's late. Mario and the others will be back, soon."

Bellamy shook his head. "They're not coming back. They got old and died."

Chivas stared, and said very gently, "People don't get old and die in a day!"

But Bellamy replied, very sadly, and with a total conviction, "Yes. They do."

He was obviously not going to settle down in the cabin that he said was not his, so Chivas stayed with him in the small TV room, until six men returned an hour later, very merry, and returning the warmth to the cabin that Bellamy so needed. Chivas was tired and fed up, and left them with scarcely a word.

Inglis spoke to Chivas again the following day. Captain Guido was going ashore to do some business with the Harbour master. Bellamy was wanted, in white uniform, straight after lunch.

Bellamy was working not far away, with Taddeo and Bruno, both of them looking rather red-eyed, and yawning now and then.

Chivas was concerned, and tried to make it clear to Inglis that Bellamy had to be better looked after. Inglis said that he seemed fine, and Chivas wound up telling him how he'd become so lost the previous night. Inglis had worked with Bellamy most of the previous day, and had even been with the Captain and his guests for a time the previous evening. It was hard to believe that afterwards, he had become so confused.

Chivas felt bad when Inglis took him to see the Captain, and he was asked to repeat the story. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything, but he was filled with alarm that Bellamy might wind up getting lost in this port. He suspected that men who might be lost and confused would not fare well in Morocco.

Captain Guido listened carefully, and suggested one of Bellamy's friends could accompany them, just to keep an eye on Bellamy. Chivas was relieved. Bellamy's friends would not let him come to harm. But Captain Guido was very thoughtful. He'd be with Bellamy that afternoon, maybe he'd know him better afterward.

Bellamy just nodded when he was told he was to go ashore with the Captain, although Taddeo and Bruno were rather stunned. They looked at each other when they were asked who'd like to go with him, and Bruno said that he'd best do it. Taddeo nodded. The way that Bruno and Angelo had given Bellamy lessons in obedience, had not gone unnoticed, except by Mario. Taddeo and Bruno didn't see any of the others at lunch, though they were impatient to tell them about the unexpected talent of Bellamy.

In the early afternoon, immaculate in white uniforms, Bruno and Bellamy reported to the Captain. Guido looked at them, said, "Good!" and explained what they'd be doing. It would probably not take long, just some business that he had to sort out, and having a good interpreter was a lot better than limping along in a language that neither knew well.

Guido was a little surprised that Bellamy didn't seem at all over-awed by his surroundings, but remembered that he'd not been fazed at last night's dinner table, either. He wished he knew more of his history. What was he, just twenty-three, twenty-four? And somewhere he'd learned to fight superlatively well, his body scars showed evidence of a very chequered past, and he knew German and was fluent in Arabic. Doctor Raef had told him that she was sure now that he was not feeble-minded, that something else was responsible for the confusion and vagueness that he showed.

Bruno was silent, deeply impressed, as the boy he still thought of as simple, competently translated for Guido and the stout harbour master. And when difficulties persisted, merely said to the Captain that he should offer a bribe, suggested a figure, and said that it was always claimed to be for 'the extra expenses of additional paperwork.'

Guido blinked at the simple solution to complex problems, and did as Bellamy suggested. Difficulties were miraculously sorted out, and the business was finished. Guido was very pleased with Bellamy, and suggested that he and Bruno should go for a walk if they wanted, while he spent some time with a fellow Captain from another ship, and they were to report back to him in two hours.

But Bellamy wandered off when Bruno was distracted, changed all his money into small denominations, and gave some to every beggar he passed. Once his money ran out, he began to realise he was lost, and stared around him, wanting his friends. He didn't think to find his way back to the docks, but just sat on the pavement, his back to a wall, and stared into the distance. After a while, he started to tremble. He didn't want to be alone.

Bruno found him again only because a group of seamen from another ship were talking about the lone man. They were late back, and Bruno was furious with him. When Guido asked Bruno what had happened, he said bitterly, "Ask Bellamy."

Guido asked Bellamy. Bellamy stared into the distance vaguely, but replied to the repeated question. "I got lost!"

Guido was looking at him narrowly, and said nothing further.

But Mario hugged him and made a fuss of him when he got back, and after a while, Bruno suspected that he'd forgotten he was in disgrace. There'd been two more sets of white uniforms sent down for him, too. Chivas had arranged it, although they were leaving Casablanca in the morning.

Captain Guido had a visit that evening from the friend for whom Bellamy had translated the night before. This time, he brought his own translator. He wanted to know all about the young man, Bellamy, and when Guido said that he wasn't normal, maybe a bit simple, said happily that that was fine with him, and offered to buy him. When Guido got over his shock, he said that Bellamy was absolutely not for sale. A very large amount of money was offered. Guido was adamant, and incurred some animosity from the wealthy man from a very different culture.

Inglis was astounded when he told him, but then said thoughtfully that maybe his past included something like that. Maybe he'd been released when he became a little too old for someone's taste. It was something else for Guido to consider. The boy was confused, he was apt to wander off and get lost, and he could be prey. He could not look after himself, but he was useful, and apparently happy now, on board ship, and he decided just to leave things as they were.

Bellamy was not needed for translating duties once they left Casablanca, and his unexpected talent began to be forgotten. The extra uniforms were carefully put away, not needed, and Bellamy continued to perform the simple manual work he'd been put to from the beginning.

***chapter end***


	30. Chapter 30

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 2/ __Chapter 17_

Over the weeks and months, Bellamy's mind became more clear. It was not obvious to others, and the improvement was not consistent. He was no longer being guarded as carefully, as he seemed perfectly happy, and showed no inclination to leave the ship. They stopped locking the door at night, or when he was left alone in the bedroom. It seemed unnecessary.

His friends were amused when he told them again about the merpeople, and he treated Chivas and another man one day to a lesson on the complications arising from dragon claw injuries. Not like ordinary slashes, he said, and he gave the name of a special lotion that was required. His audience listened to him indulgently.

Sometimes, it was as if another person suddenly spoke. At dinner once, the conversation strayed to sex, and then Boris Willis spoke about a woman whom he'd ... and he used a coarse word implying a win for him, and contempt for the woman. It was a common attitude, that a man was a man if he had sex, but the woman was a slut. Bellamy fired up and gave Boris a stern lecture about the ethics of love-making, that he should be grateful and honoured if a woman chose to share her body with him.

Boris sneered, "And what would you know? You've probably never even done it! What are you, maybe twenty?"

But Bellamy's eyes no longer vaguely wandered, and he said coolly, "I'm older than you'll ever be, Willis!" And the look in his eyes was cold, judgemental.

Willis looked down at his meal, rebuked, and said nothing further.

Taddeo and Silvio listened with their mouths open, and they were not the only ones. This was not their Henry speaking, surely.

Silvio asked him later, in the small TV room, where he sat leaning against Mario. "Have you ever had sex with a woman, Henry?"

But he said he didn't know, that he thought so. It was not until a few days later, when Angelo, shrewd eyes on him, asked the question again, that they had more of an answer. "I used to, but I'm not allowed any more." And when questioned further, it seemed that it was like fighting - crazy men were not allowed to do it because they might hurt someone.

He was petted and hugged by his cabin-mates, freely and unselfconsciously, but there was never any sexual action from them. And when they had sex, it was invariably out of his sight. He was untouchable, and all but Mario were able to put away their desire for him. But Mario loved him, and held his naked body in his arms every night. And sex is a natural part of love.

One night, Bellamy woke as Mario slipped out of bed, and stayed awake as Mario begged, "_Please_, Nino."

Nino grumbled, "If it's so difficult, just make him sleep alone!" But Nino consented, and Bellamy heard the noises of sex, and the heartfelt gratitude of his special friend afterward.

For some reason, it was easier to think that night. Bellamy didn't think he loved Mario, but he had grown to depend on him. If Mario asked, he would agree, he thought, and yet a revolt arose in him. Whether or not he wanted to please Mario, he couldn't do it, not voluntarily. Bellamy didn't know he was a wizard, and well over a hundred years old, but he knew he was not as Mario knew him. Mario loved his simple-minded and vulnerable boy. But Bellamy wasn't really that boy. He had to leave the ship, although it would break his heart. And he wriggled his bare back closer to the furry chest of Mario. Mario tightened his grip, and a little later, Bellamy felt his erection again pressing hard between his thighs.

In the morning, Bellamy went to Chivas and told him he needed to go to the pay officer in order to arrange his discharge at the next European port, not Turkey. Chivas was dumbfounded and sought to dissuade him. When he came back to Bellamy two hours later, it was to take him to Captain Guido, not the pay officer. Inglis and Esta Raef were also present. Guido told him to sit down, and Bellamy sat.

"Henry," Guido started, "When you came to me, you became my responsibility. You've found a good home here, and you're useful and wanted. You've been happy here, too."

Bellamy stared vaguely into the distance.

Esta leaned forward, and tried the tone that had unexpectedly had sense from him before. "Do you really want to leave the ship, Henry?"

Bellamy's gaze cleared a little. "It's time to go." But when they pressed for reasons, he didn't seem able to tell them.

Guido pitied him, but knew him to be vulnerable and defenceless. He could not be allowed to wander and probably starve. Or maybe become someone's toy.

"Henry," he said, very clearly, "I can't let you go. You are my responsibility. You have to stay here where you're safe."

A suddenly cool voice asked, "Am I a prisoner, then?"

Guido spluttered. "Of course you're not a prisoner! You just have to be looked after, that's all."

"So let me go."

Guido was silent, and then said, slowly, sadly, "If you insist on leaving, I'll have to hand you over to the authorities, and then you'll undoubtedly wind up in a mental institution."

Esta put out a hand and touched his. "You know you're not well. You're not right in the mind. If I asked you where you were when you were six, for instance, you couldn't tell me."

A sudden image of a dark cupboard rose in the mind of Bellamy, but it was almost instantly lost in the clouds of confusion that enveloped him. And it was the confusion that showed, as he turned a vague, unfocused look toward the door. He wanted to go now.

He said nothing further about wanting to leave the ship, but he was very well guarded again, and Chivas rostered him for kitchen duties, a long way from quick and easy access to the railings. There was a worry he'd simply jump overboard as he'd done before. His friends were concerned when they were first told, but he showed no indication of unhappiness, and they hoped it might have been just a random impulse. But when they went ashore together for a few hours at the next port, they put Bellamy in the sleeping cabin, gave him a few magazines to look at, and told him to be a good boy. He picked up a magazine, like a good boy. But an hour later, he was pacing the few steps across the room, back and forward, back and forward, every now and then trying the locked door. It stayed locked.

He was trembling by the time they returned. The cabin was too cold without his friends, but he quickly settled down when comforted by Mario, and they didn't know that he suffered.

A couple of days later, he leaned against the railing. Mario held his right arm, Silvio his left. Taddeo was close too. The coast was only a few miles away.

"What land is that?" asked Bellamy.

"Turkey," answered Mario, decisively, "It's Turkey."

They knew he wouldn't try to swim to Turkey. It was a strange thing, but according to his friends, the next three ports were also Turkey.

There was another precaution taken. Bellamy had given away a very large amount of money in Casablanca, and had forgotten the many unopened paypackets tucked into pockets in his backpack. His wallet was empty, but he remembered now that money was important. And this time, when he was paid, he opened the packet, and looked at the very small amount in it.

"What's the matter?" asked Angelo.

Bellamy stared at the tiny pay he'd been given, but realised that it must be because he was a crazy man, and so he just put it in his wallet. But Angelo had seen, and picked up the discarded envelope, checking the information. And on Bellamy's behalf, he went to see the pay officer. It was on the Captain's instructions. If Bellamy had no money, he wouldn't try and leave the ship. Surely he must have the sense to know that he had to stay where he had food and shelter. Angelo wasn't convinced that he did have that much sense, but was over-ruled. The money would be kept for him, in trust.

Mario was again persuaded to leave him on his own, when in port in Barcelona. There was to be a bullfight. The cabin was locked. Again, he paced. But this time, the fifth time he tried the door, he found it unlocked. Uberto thought that it would be a very good thing if he left, and was preferably never heard of again. His cabin-mates thought he'd forgotten, but whenever Bellamy caught sight of Uberto, his baleful glare followed him, although he had not attacked.

Bellamy appeared to wander. He appeared to wander after a group of crewmen who were leaving the ship. Inconspicuous, in his white uniform, among all the other white uniforms. Nearly, he wandered off the ship, but there was a sudden yell, and his arm was grabbed. He merely looked vague, uncomprehending, as an angry voice asked what he thought he was doing. All the crew had been told explicitly that Bellamy was not allowed to leave the ship without at least two people looking after him. Only that morning, those who guarded against unauthorised entry, had been reminded of that. An angry voice told him to stay put, and a hand held him very firmly. Bellamy still did what he was told, and he stayed put, as so firmly instructed.

He was put in the charge of two crewmen who happened to walk past. They were off duty, and had better things to do than look after the imbecile. But they were not rough, only telling him he had to stay with them, and behave himself. They took him to the recreation room and put on a film for him. It was a simple comedy they thought might entertain him. Neither had worked with him, and neither had any reason to think he was anything other than feeble-minded.

Bellamy watched for a while, as he was told, while the pair started playing table tennis. There was no-one else there, and they were speaking their own native language, Spanish, beginning to be involved in their game. They each had a competitive streak and were good players.

Bellamy started wandering around the room, aimlessly, pausing at a noticeboard, and passing it by, picking up a magazine and putting it down again. Ramirez took notice, and missed a hit. He swore, and called to Bellamy to go and sit down. Bellamy paused, tilting his head. The instruction was repeated, this time in Italian.

He sat down, and the game continued. Again he got up, and wandered toward the table tennis table, watching, and then wandering around the room again. He was wandering out the door when Lopez noticed, dropped his racquet and grabbed him. He was sworn at, and handled roughly, pushed very firmly back in his seat in front of the TV screen.

"Bloody imbecile," said Lopez. He had reverted to Spanish.

Ramirez, too, used Spanish. "Don't be rough with him, Jay. He can't help it!"

"He's an imbecile, and a damned nuisance!"

Ramirez soothed his friend, "I hear he's going soon. The Captain's having him committed just as soon as we get to Southampton."

"Why Southampton?"

"Didn't you know? He's actually English."

Bellamy was up again, but they kept a wary eye on him, and he didn't again go near the door. Instead, he seemed to be watching them play. He spoke quite suddenly, and in Spanish. "When do we get to Southampton?"

There was a silence, and then Ramirez said, "Why don't you look at the notice board? There's a full schedule for the next six months."

Bellamy looked vaguely in the direction of the notice board, and Ramirez put down his racquet, and pointed out the schedule. "I can't read it," said Bellamy.

"Of course he can't read it; he's simple, remember," said Lopez, impatiently, though he'd been just as surprised as his friend when Bellamy had used Spanish.

But Ramirez was beginning to think that nothing was simple about Bellamy, and Ramirez asked the question that nobody else had ever thought to ask him. "_Why _can't you read it, Henry?"

Bellamy's gaze wandered, and he stared at the door. Ramirez waited, and was rewarded. "I think I lost my glasses."

Lopez gave a snort of laughter, as Ramirez repeated, incredulously, "You can't read, because you lost your glasses!"

Bellamy suddenly remembered his main concern, "When do we get to Southampton?"

Lopez told him. "Six weeks." Six weeks, and the information was filed. He had not much time.

Ramirez and Lopez had forgotten their impatience with him, and tried to find out a little more about their intriguing shipmate. But as others had done, they soon gave up. He had a great line in innocent, vacant stares, extremely frustrating for those who tried to get anything out of him. Ramirez finally suggested they take him to Dr. Raef, and maybe she could get to the bottom of the glasses thing. And that was a bit of triumph, too. He'd been in the care of Mario and his mates for eight months, and they didn't suspect that he might simply need glasses!

They had to wait a while, as Esta was in the middle of seeing a few passengers who had come for attention for various minor ills. The passengers took priority. But their turn came.

Esta was surprised to see Bellamy in the company of someone aside from Mario for a change, and asked what was the matter.

Ramirez and Lopez were grinning, and Lopez laughed again as he said, "You know why he can't read? He lost his glasses!"

Esta blinked. "Henry?"

But Bellamy was gazing at the door, the clouds of confusion drowning all thought. Maybe it was the fear of committal. And when Esta asked if he'd lost his glasses, and persisted in her questioning, he only said vaguely that he didn't know. Esta tried a slightly different line of questioning, "_When_ did you lose your glasses?"

Oddly, he answered this, "About twenty years ago, I think."

Lopez shook his head. And he said jeeringly, "So you lost your glasses when you just were a baby!"

Bellamy answered, "No, I lost my _parents_ when I was a baby, I lost my glasses about twenty years ago."

It was strange how tiny scraps of information came to light, Esta thought. It wasn't much, but she now knew that he'd been orphaned very young. She rose, and thanked Lopez and Ramirez for bringing him to her. She said she'd organise something. Lopez turned at the door, adding an aside, "By the way, he speaks fluent Spanish."

Guido laughed, as they all had, when Esta told him that the illiterate, feeble-minded boy knew Spanish, and needed glasses. The next port was to be Cannes, and she went herself to find Bellamy. When the knock came at the door that evening, Silvio and Taddeo stopped playing with each other, and Mario unwound his arm from around Bellamy, while Bruno opened the door. They were surprised to see the doctor, as Lopez and Ramirez had chosen not to pass on the new information they'd discovered.

Esta greeted them, and said that she'd try and arrange an appointment with an optometrist as soon as possible, and added to Bellamy, "You don't speak French as well by any chance?"

Bellamy nodded, and Esta tested, a sentence confirming that his knowledge of French considerably exceeded hers.

Angelo asked curiously, "Just how many languages do you speak, Henry?"

But Bellamy couldn't answer, and began to be upset when he was quizzed, so they desisted. They knew what he was capable of when upset.

Captain Guido was thoroughly curious about Bellamy by now, and accompanied Mario and Bellamy to the optometrists a few days later, when they arrived at Cannes. Esta was also with them, and Bellamy only called her Catherine once. He behaved well, and did as instructed, the procedure apparently familiar to him. When asked to make a choice of frame he touched one with narrow black rims, the sort of glasses he'd worn since he was a child. He finally put them on, and they watched his dawning, wondering smile with triumph. But he looked surprised and confused when he opened his wallet to see the meagre contents.

Guido said gently, "You don't have to pay out of that, Bellamy. There's money put away for you."

It was surprising what a difference it made to his looks. Straightaway, he looked older, more knowing. And when he asked Guido about the money put away for him, and said that he'd rather have it, please, Guido felt uncomfortable denying him. But he reinforced the lesson as best he could, "On board ship, with your friends, you have food and shelter. All alone, you haven't enough money even to buy food. You must not leave the ship."

Bellamy was silent. Captain Guido didn't know of the rumour that he was to be committed once back in his home country. It was not his intention. Bellamy was to be looked after. He was improving, and he was safe where he was.

Angelo was a reader, though no other of his friends were, and Angelo started taking him to the ship's library now that he could read, taking pleasure in Bellamy's pleasure. It was not just the reading, he would caress the books as if they were valued objects in themselves. The third time they visited, he made a discovery. "Look, Angelo! It's my very own book!" And he held a quite small, hard cover book, with a picture of a mare and foal on it. Angelo looked. Bellamy was full of his discovery, "Look, Henry Bellamy!"

The author was named as Henry Bellamy, but it was an old book. Smiling indulgently, but just in case, Angelo checked the date of publication and handed it back. "First published over thirty years ago, Henry, before you were born."

But Bellamy was caressing the cover. "It's Mischief, and her foal. I think we called her Sprite. I wrote it a long time ago."

Angelo shook his head, but didn't argue.

Over the next days, Bellamy showed any who would listen, the pictures inside, and he'd have names for the horses, not the names in the stories, but others. Mario began to think that he really had written it, until Angelo again pointed out that it was impossible. Bruno said that he knew the book well. He'd had a copy for his tenth birthday, and had treasured it. The twins said that they, too, had a copy, and they suspected it may have been the same for Bellamy as he knew the book so well.

"You can probably buy your own copy if you want, Henry, next time we're in Italy."

But Bellamy shook his head, "I have to save my money, because if you don't have money, you can't buy food, and then after a while, you can't walk any more."

Mario's arm tightened around him. "Has it been like that for you, Henry? You couldn't walk because you didn't have enough to eat?"

Bellamy had his book open, "Look, it's Kildare. They called him the mad black, but he wasn't really."

Angelo again went to the Captain. What if Bellamy did leave, in spite of their efforts. He might starve again, as it sounded like he had before. And he repeated his words to Guido, as best as he could remember, 'If you don't have money, you can't buy food, and then after a while, you can't walk any more.'

Captain Guido listened, and finally nodded, and said, "I'll organise it. Bellamy will have his full pay." He was earning it, he thought. At lifeboat drill, he'd been going from one group to another, translating for those who didn't know Italian. They'd now added Greek to the list of languages he could apparently speak fluently. But Guido was preoccupied with ship's problems, and the matter of Bellamy's pay passed from his mind.

Mario didn't really like his glasses. It seemed to take his boy further away, and he was already afraid that he was losing him. Each time he read a book, or was off with the officers, translating for them, he seemed more distant. And sometimes, Mario looked at his eyes, and it was like it wasn't his boy any more. Mario yearned after his Henry, and was afraid.

Chivas always rostered one or more of his cabin-mates on with Bellamy, especially after he, too, had been shown the book he said he'd written, and given a hair by hair description, as he told himself bitterly, of a mare called Sheba. Even when sometimes he seemed so normal, he was not. And one day, he'd seen him by himself, looking very hard at the line of coast far in the distance. It seemed he'd slipped his guards, confirmed when Mario turned a corner, looking acutely anxious, and hurried to his side.

Bellamy was now working in the kitchen at dinner times, arranging meals ready for the waiter to serve, and doing the interminable tidying, and washing. He was seldom seen by the passengers, but wore whites as they all did in that area. He was always clean and neat, deft and quick. His staff at home would never have believed it. His facility with languages was well known by this time, and the head waiter added Chinese to the list.

He was sent for. He was wanted at the Captain's table. Obediently, he removed his apron, checked his appearance, drying a wet spot on his shirt with routine and easy magic, magic that he'd forgotten was magic, and went to see what Guido wanted. He was told to pull up a chair, and introduced to the grouping of first class passengers. He was looking questioningly at Guido.

"Dr. Borsche wants to talk to you, Henry," said Captain Guido.

Bellamy looked innocently to Dr. Borsche. "Please, have a wine," said Borsche.

Bellamy declined, "I'm on duty." And anyway, he didn't like wine much.

"Giovanni tells me you can speak several languages." Borsche said.

Bellamy nodded.

"You must have an interesting past."

Bellamy frowned slightly. A woman leaned forward, "Can I see the scars on your wrists?"

Guido sat back at the look of burning reproach from Bellamy, who rose, turned his back, and left. Guido wasn't quite sure whether to be annoyed at his discourtesy, or ashamed of his own actions.

Inglis, at the next table, noticed him striding fast toward the door, quickly excused himself and followed him. Taddeo, who'd been keeping a watch, was not far behind. When Inglis came up with him, Bellamy was leaning on the railing, staring at a line of lights on the distant shore.

"What's the matter, Henry?" asked Inglis.

Bellamy said savagely, "Guido! Showing me off to his passengers like I'm a bloody exhibition!"

Inglis had never seen him like this. No-one had for a very, very long time. Bellamy was beginning to find himself again. Inglis stayed with him a while, leaning on the railing beside him, before asking what he was supposed to be doing.

"Washing dishes," he replied, "I'd best go back."

But when he and Taddeo returned, he was greeted with relief, and taken straight to a table, where he was needed to translate for some English, who never seemed to have even one second language. Taddeo continued to keep a discreet watch on him. He was certainly a lot of trouble.

Captain Guido had been reminded, and that evening, when he happened to see the paymaster, mentioned to him that Bellamy's money was to be restored to him, and his pay normalised. The paymaster nodded. Next pay.

Bellamy had been given no chance to alight at any port, and time had nearly run out. His wallet and passport were now packed tight in a water-proof package. They were heading toward Southampton, but were now just off Portugal.

That night, he quietly left the side of Mario, who was snoring softly. He put on his swimmers, his moneybelt, and then his belt, with the package containing his too thin wallet, his passport, and added his glasses. He would not have escaped if he hadn't made a gentle spell of sleep, but that was the only magic he used. He found Mario's key, opened the door, slipped quietly out, looked at the distant lights on the shore, and dived.

Mario knew he was gone the moment he woke. When he checked, he thought that, of his clothes, he had only taken swimmers. His glasses were gone, and his wallet and passport. He discovered the unopened paypackets, and shook his head. Trust his silly boy to forget that money. He knew how little he was getting in his pay now, enough for two meals, if he was lucky. He didn't bother with any search of the ship, just went straight to the Captain to make his report. Bellamy was gone and Mario begged to be put ashore. The next scheduled stop was Vigo, in Spain, but Guido gave Mario Bellamy's arrears of pay, and made an unscheduled stop, in order to allow him to search for his boy.

Guido was privately sure that he was dead. They hadn't come closer to shore than six miles at any time in the night, and if he had made it to shore, there were many areas where the sea crashed against unclimbable cliffs. As a matter of form, he filed a missing person's report.

A few days later, in London, Jonathan Johns had a report presented to him. A man called Henry Bellamy had jumped from a ship off the coast of Portugal, close to Lisbon. It was the ship, Costa Rivera, now conveniently at Southampton. Further enquiries were made, and it was confirmed that it was Bellamy. Johns had long suspected that he was not dead. He knew his household was still maintained. There was also the fact that his family had never acknowledged his death.

Theodore Laurie went himself to see the Captain of the ship. But although the word 'muggle' had nearly died from disuse, the attitude behind it had not. Captain Guido was unused to being treated with a scarcely veiled contempt, and gave Laurie very little information - only that he'd been a long way offshore, and the man was almost certainly dead. The result was that a fairly limited search was mounted, looking for a thin man with long hair, possibly in a pony tail. The search was unsuccessful

***chapter end***


	31. Chapter 31

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 2/__Chapter 18_

It was almost winter, and the water was cold. Bellamy was exhausted after his long swim, but worried he'd be searched for. Again he used his magic, to conjure clothes, to conjure shoes, and to hack his hair off short. He hadn't always done what Julie told him when she was alive, and now she was dead. Long hair, pony tail or not, was a good descriptor. The city to the south was Lisbon. He started walking north-east, heading inland. He holed up in the daytime, and walked again at night.

The previous winter, he would have starved to death if Father Tarzia hadn't come to his aid. It didn't enter his calculations. He didn't want to go to England, and he didn't want to be committed. For two nights, he hid himself away during the days, and walked all the nights, even though the clumsy shoes he'd conjured gave him blisters. He tried again, twice, but he didn't seem to be very good at shoes. He knew not to go too long without food, otherwise he couldn't walk. So on the third morning, he bought bread, and conjured a backpack to put it in. But the clear mindedness so newly returned, seemed to be deserting him again. He would not work any more magic. Crazy men were not allowed to work magic.

He was still in Portugal when he presented himself at a labour exchange and asked for work. When asked for his name, he looked confused for a moment, and then said William Carpenter. The farmer gave him a small, and bitterly cold room, and set him to work splitting firewood for the oncoming winter. He was given meals, but they were inadequate for the heavy labour he was performing. And when it was time to be paid the second week, the farmer told him his work was unsatisfactory, and he should go. Bellamy picked up his backpack and left.

For two weeks' work, he had one week's small pay. It was enough to keep him going a while, but he wandered in a daze. He desperately missed the big body of Mario cradling him at night, as well as the warmth of his friends. The lack of sufficient food was not helping. He no longer wore his glasses, left forgotten in his backpack.

Mario found him in Spain, having tracked down reports of a wandering tramp. He was heartbroken when he saw how thin he'd become, and then Bellamy looked at him and refused to recognise him. "I'm Mario, Henry," he said. "I'm Mario, who loves you."

Bellamy looked away from him, and said that Mario was many years ago, and would have died by now. Mario walked with him. After a while, Bellamy sat under a tree and took some bread from his backpack, politely offering some to the big man beside him whom he refused to know.

"I'll have a slice if you let me share my food in the next town," said Mario.

Bellamy said nothing, only ate his slice of bread as Mario ate his, rose, and continued walking.

But he still responded to a firm voice, and consented to eat when supplied with food, and even to go with Mario when he rented a room for the night. He still wouldn't call him Mario, and after a while, Mario asked him to choose a name for him, then. Bellamy ignored him. That was silly.

The room had a double bed and a single bed. Mario pointed to the double bed, and told him that he had to sleep there. Bellamy obeyed, and when Mario got in as well, snuggled into his warm body, gave a tired sigh, and slept. Mario held him tight, feeling how thin he'd become, and wondered how he should proceed. Guido had said that he should come back as soon as he was ready, but when Mario asked about Bellamy, he'd said, 'Of course, him as well.' And Mario knew he thought Bellamy would be dead.

With Bellamy's unused pay, as well as his own, the pair were no longer short of money, and for a while, they just walked. Bellamy, unquestioning, accepted that Mario would buy food when required, and find a room for the night. Mario let Bellamy lead, as he was going in the direction he wanted.

Word was sent, and Captain Guido was surprised and very relieved to hear that Mario had found Bellamy. According to the note, he hoped to meet the ship in Barcelona, where it was to be in four weeks. Guido had been feeling guilty, blaming himself for the boy's impulsive action. He should not have shared his interest in his crewman with a half dozen tactless passengers. It was that night that he'd gone missing. He chose not to advise those men who'd been looking for him. Guido had taken a thorough dislike to Theodore Laurie, and wondered whether they'd been responsible for the hurts in Bellamy's past.

There had been a note for Angelo as well, and the news quickly spread. Bellamy had been found. There was some celebration that evening. It was not only his cabin-mates who looked on him with some affection, even if a nuisance at times. Esta shed a few tears. He was a mystery, and she'd twice seen him in acute distress. She had a propriatorial interest almost as much as Mario.

Uberto was less happy, and wondered if he should change ships. He was afraid that one day Bellamy might attack him, or even just open his mouth too far. So far, he'd been able to fudge figures and conceal missing drugs, but it wouldn't take much to start an investigation.

By the fourth day after Mario found Bellamy, Mario's feet were blistered, he was stiff and sore, and he'd lost weight as he walked with his boy. Bellamy simply kept walking, all day, every day, and, Mario suspected, would have just slept wherever he was when the sun went down if Mario hadn't been there to bully him into proper shelter. He hadn't tried to influence him in any other way, afraid that he'd simply clear out again.

Early on the fifth day, they came to a sizeable town, and Bellamy changed his pattern. Mario was led into a labour exchange, and Bellamy said that he was looking for work.

"What about your friend, do you want work together?"

Bellamy asked Mario, not quite looking at him. Mario said that he did. But when Bellamy was asked for his name, he said Jaidyn O'Dea. And when he was asked for the name of his friend, he turned to Mario. Mario gave his name, his scant Spanish sufficient to answer this simple question. Mario was stunned when Bellamy handed over his passport, to see it checked, and yet the woman kept calling him Mr. O'Dea. "Come back tomorrow morning, and we'll see what we've got for you."

Bellamy thanked her gravely, and they went outside into the watery sunshine. He sat down on some steps, and stared into the distance. Mario sat down beside him, glancing at his incalculable friend, wondering again about his past. After a while, he pressed some of Bellamy's unopened payslips on him, but he didn't want to accept them. Mario pointed, "Look, there's your name, Henry Bellamy!"

Bellamy denied that it was his name. Mario told him to put on his glasses, and when he didn't answer, looked himself through his backpack, containing just one towel, a change of underwear, and a disposable shaver, conjured out of habit so people wouldn't ask how he shaved. His glasses were there, luckily in a solid case, protecting them from injury.

When ordered, Bellamy looked again at his payslips, and then at his passport. "_Look, _your name's Henry Bellamy."

Bellamy looked vaguely away, and Mario gave it up for the time being. And when Bellamy carefully put his glasses back in the case and put them away, he said nothing.

That evening they were in a warm motel room. It had a couch, and Mario sat with Bellamy nestled to his side, as he'd done so often before. Mario's shirt was unbuttoned, and Bellamy put his hand up onto his bare chest. After a while, he asked quietly, "Are you Mario?"

Mario hugged his boy, come back to him. "Yes, I'm Mario."

For three weeks afterward, the pair did some heavy work in a local factory. Mario hated it, but Bellamy followed orders and worked well. And these paypackets, he accepted happily, putting the money carefully in his wallet. They called him Peter Finn, because that was what he said his name was when asked the first day they reported for duty. The foreman just looked at his note, and shrugged. There must have been a mistake, and he wasn't particular. Men came and went, it was an unpleasant place to work, and there were always vacancies.

They were not far from Barcelona, but Mario knew he wouldn't get Bellamy back yet. He hadn't even raised the subject. He had a schedule of ship's movements, and hoped to get him there next time, in another six weeks, if not at another port.

When Mario started coughing from the fumes at work, Bellamy was very concerned, and said that they'd have to find a healer. Mario explained that he just had to stop working there, and the coughing would go away. But Bellamy wasn't convinced that he should stop working there as well, until Mario counted his money for him, having surreptitiously added a large amount from his store. Bellamy finally looked at his fat wallet, smiled, and agreed that they'd have a holiday to allow Mario to get well.

It was now mid winter, but they were in a pleasant climate, and stopped at a small holiday unit on the coast. Bellamy swam every day, to Mario's consternation, but thought it better than if he walked every day, and might more easily become lost. But Bellamy came back to him, feeling within himself that it was like the glow of a warm fire that drew him. With regular food again, and the body contact that was nourishment for the spirit, he was again beginning to lose some of the confusion that so often took over.

One day, he managed to lure Mario into a heated swimming pool, and cavorted around the big bear of a man, laughing and splashing. He was acting as if he was perfectly normal that day, but looked away when Mario spoke of returning to the ship. And later, Mario saw him, just standing and looking into the distance, as if he saw something there.

Mario was afraid. Over the next few days, there were more times when Bellamy looked as if there was something he had to remember, his eyes staring into the distance, and his expression, not vacant, or innocent, but merely abstracted.

Mario held him tighter than ever those nights. He wanted to keep his boy, but each day, his boy was becoming more distant, a different person. Mario hadn't tried to make love with him, but was masturbating every night in the bathroom before coming to bed, and often during the night, too, when the contact with his naked body became too much for him.

One night, his caressing became more intimate. If only he could put the seal of the flesh on his boy, then he might truly return the love that Mario had for him, and they could be together always. Last time he'd had him, he'd just turned the sleeping, drugged boy on his front, and taken him, slowly and pleasurably, gathering arms and legs between his own, and covering him with his big body, in a conscious act of possession. He didn't think his Henry had even woken, too much under the influence of the drug. This time, he asked.

There was a long silence. Bellamy said yes. Mario couldn't believe it, and hugged him in his ecstasy. But he was making love with him, not just having sex, and he caressed and fondled the naked man, as they lay close in bed. Mario was nearly sobbing, telling his Henry how much he loved him. Bellamy was almost panicking, wanting to escape. Why had he agreed?

He was told to wait, as Mario picked up something from a pocket in his own backpack. Mario knew his boy wasn't excited himself, but if only he'd let him. He wanted to turn Bellamy onto his front, so that he couldn't pull away if it hurt, but changed his mind. He should not be constrained, and if he pulled away, he'd leave him alone and not insist. So Bellamy was told to turn on his side, and draw up his legs, as Mario gently smeared some gel into his bottom. Bellamy gritted his teeth in pain as Mario entered. There hadn't been that lengthy buildup, and neither finger nor dildo had coaxed muscles to relax in preparation. But he didn't pull away.

It was only a short time since Mario had masturbated, and he was not in acute need. He took his time, and it stopped hurting. And maybe it was because of the lack of coercion, but this time, for the first time, Bellamy found a measure of excitement and pleasure himself. And when Mario finished, and hugged him very hard, he saw the half erection, and was overjoyed. His boy would learn to like it.

An hour later, as Mario lay deeply asleep, Bellamy slipped from his side. He dressed, packed his backpack, and silently disapparated from inside the room.

When Mario woke, as he had before, he knew instantly that Bellamy had gone. His backpack was gone, and he only shook his head when he noticed that the chain was still across the door. He'd sometimes thought before that Bellamy was something like one of those magical beings read about in fables, a supernatural creature, temporarily in need of a warm haven. It was great good luck to touch one of them. But tears trickled. Bellamy had fled from him three times. This time he would not go looking.

A week later, Mario rejoined the ship, alone. Guido, Inglis and Esta wanted to know as much as possible about how he'd found him, and whether he was all right. Mario told them as much as he could.

His cabin-mates, too, wanted to know all about him. And Mario told them, in a tone of wonder, "He let me make love to him. I asked him, and he said yes. It was like a thank you, or maybe a good-bye."

Angelo handed him a little book, with a picture of a mare and foal on the cover. "You'd best keep this. I'll report it missing."

Mario caressed the book, and went to bed early, leaving his cabin-mates to talk. Taddeo grinned. "He's a lot thinner. Keeping up with Bellamy must have been hard work!"

_End of part Two._


	32. Chapter 32

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_PART 3/Chapter 1_

Bellamy hadn't remembered his moneybelt when he was starving, although Beth had told him to remember it when he needed it. Now he remembered it. He wanted a writing machine, and apparated into the small wizarding area in Stockholm that he knew well, bought himself one, and then went to the luxury hotel where he'd stayed often before. Boedil at the reception desk looked at him disapprovingly, jeans, shirt, light jacket, no coat, though it was mid winter, in Sweden. She asked him to pay in advance. Bellamy paid a month in advance, but she still gave him the cheapest room.

When he was shown to his room, he frowned. It was not satisfactory, and he was upgraded to a larger room that had a desk and chairs. And then he set up his writing machine on the desk, tossed a loaf of bread onto a table, and started to write.

The following morning, the cleaner knocked at his door. There was no answer, and she entered the room. Oblivious to distractions, a thin, rather shabby man, sat at what appeared to be a small computer. He was talking to it, softly, continuously. She had to ask him twice whether she should come back later, before he even seemed to notice she was there.

Slowly, he looked around him, frowning, as if not quite sure where he was. She saw that he wore glasses, and had a very poor haircut. A small backpack lay on the floor and an opened loaf of bread was on the table, with a couple of slices missing. He was looking a bit dazed, and she reminded him to take his key when he said that he would go out for a little while.

Bellamy knew the area well, and found himself a meal at a fast food place not far away. He knew the hotel well, too, and went to the heated swimming pool for some needed exercise, although shuddering away from the bubbling spa. It seemed it was all right to conjure again, as he suddenly had a large towel and swimmers. Smoothly, he lapped the pool a few times, but his mind was on his book, and after a while, he tried to find his room.

The porter led him back to his room and waited for a tip, but the man immediately forgot his existence, and just sat in front of his computer and started talking to it. Brand shook his head, and left him to it.

Every day, Mai's appearance to clean was the signal for him to go out, and get a meal and some exercise. Occasionally, in his room, he'd eat a slice of bread, or have a drink of water from the tap. He didn't even take the time to make himself coffee, although facilities were in his room.

After a week, Mai quietly replaced his loaf of bread with a fresh loaf when she noticed it was becoming mouldy. A few days later, she begged an old coat from Brand, and when Bellamy rose from his computer, she told him to put it on, as it was very cold outside. She wasn't sure if he even noticed it was not his, and again had to remind him to take his key.

Brand was beginning to know him well, too, after leading him back to his room three times. And when he laughed about it, two of the other porters said that they'd done the same job. He was beginning to be a topic of conversation, the verdict being that he was a mad genius. There was never anything to read on his computer, although they were all sure that they'd seen writing.

One bitter day, when snow fell, Brand asked him why he didn't go to one of the hotel restaurants. Mai, Brand, and Boedil had been in consultation. He was too thin, and they thought he was getting thinner. He needed someone to look after him. But it was only when Brand said firmly that he should go to the hotel restaurant, and order a good meal with vegetables, that he did as suggested. He forgot to pay, though, and, instead, it was added to his bill.

Boedil was concerned that he'd run out of money. It was a very expensive hotel, and his clothing and lack of possessions did not indicate wealth. Mai asked him the following day, and he replied absent-mindedly that he had lots of money. But it must have reminded him, because he reported to reception, and paid more money for meals and accommodation.

"Tell me when it runs out, and I have to pay some more," he said, and wandered away, looking as vague as always.

He became a bit of a project with the staff, then, and Mai, or the other cleaner, would make sure he wore his coat when he went out, and remembered his key, and one of the porters, usually Brand, would knock at his door, and tell him it was time to come to dinner. After he had difficulty choosing meals, and then wandered off when it took a while to come, they gave him his own regular table, and had a meal ready for him when he arrived.

Except for courteous thank yous, he scarcely seemed to notice what they did for him, and none of them were quite sure whether he even knew who they were. But after another week, the swimming pool attendant passed on his observation that he was no longer as thin.

The book was taking up all Bellamy's mind. When Mai arrived one day, and handed him his coat, he thanked her absent-mindedly as he always did, and went out, not noticing that Alexander and Jed waited outside his door, and followed him. He bought himself something to eat, and sat looking at the sea. The bodyguards watched for danger. This time, when he stopped and looked confused, it was Alexander who guided him to his room. He gave him the same absent-minded thank you as he gave to Mai.

He went in, Alexander following him, and sat down again at his writing machine, his quiet voice beginning again. Alexander shook his head. He knew the man was brilliant, he knew he'd written some very well regarded books, but wondered what he was up to now. Somehow, he couldn't quite understand the words that Bellamy spoke, although he was sure that it was English. He quietly checked the bathroom for enemies, before leaving the room and taking guard outside.

The hotel staff were now totally convinced that he had to be an eccentric genius. He had a team of bodyguards suddenly looking after him, and Boedil was told to just send a monthly account to an address, and not to worry him about payment. A breakfast tray was to be taken to his room every day, as well. Alexander didn't think a half-stale loaf of bread was a proper meal.

Dieter Roche, whom Bellamy had once called Franz, was in charge of the team of aurors. Carefully, they didn't intrude, leaving him to his established routine, worried that he'd vanish again, for more years. Rumours of his presence had not yet spread far. Helmer was still the head of wizardry in Sweden, and gave all cooperation to his English colleagues.

Bellamy was accustomed to Mai, and she was happy to see that he was to be properly looked after. When Mai, at her accustomed time, knocked and entered the room for the morning cleaning, Graham came in after her. "Hello, Bellamy," he said quietly, "I've just come to check you over."

To his relief, Bellamy just nodded, "Graham," and even sat still while he touched a couple of sensors to the back of his hand to check the Niscos and weight.

Graham thought he'd best not push his luck, and stood back, then, leaving Mai to hold his coat for him, and tell him bossily to have a good walk for the exercise, as it was a nicer day then normal, and to make sure and have a meal. He thanked her, and accepted the key that she gave him. She was sure that he'd never remember it without her.

Dieter watched after him as he went, Alexander and Jed with him, and Swedish aurors scattered around his accustomed route as well. He turned to Graham. "Well?"

Graham was smiling. "He made no objection to me checking the Niscos and weight, though I didn't try for anything else. And the LV is considerably up. Still a fair way down from his normal, but I've never actually seen him at his normal." And he added, "Weight's way down, though."

Dieter asked, "Do you think he's getting better?"

Graham smiled ruefully. "When he stops getting lost whenever he goes out, we might be able to say he's getting better."

Beth, consulted, said just to leave him alone, and that he'd come back to them when he was ready. And she agreed, definitely, that family should stay away. They didn't think he'd leave yet, as he so obviously had no thought to spare for anything other than his writing. They soon knew he was sleeping quietly every night, but always for only four or five hours. And then, early in the morning, the quiet voice would start again. They went in and out of his room a little bit, but not very much, and still using Mai, whom he was accustomed to. Mai was getting a large bonus in her wages now, for helping look after him, and several other staff had been well rewarded as well, both with a bonus in their paypackets, and, equally important to most, unqualified praise from management.

Dieter, Alexander and sometimes Graham, started sharing Bellamy's table at dinner, having what he had. Dieter always accompanied Mai when she knocked and entered mid-morning, which was the signal for him to go out, get some exercise, and have some lunch if he remembered. Now that he was having a regular dinner, he was beginning to forget about lunch. Dieter always walked with him when he went outside, whoever else went. They occasionally had a thank you from him, but they had not yet attempted any guidance or other interference

The day that he started to eat his meal, and then abandoned it, they knew his enemies had found him. Prudently, they abandoned their own meals, and luckily only Graham was a little ill, and treated himself without problem. They wondered that anyone still bothered to try and poison him. He always knew, but they posted an auror in the kitchens after that. Some of the older staff remembered that sort of a precaution from a long time ago, when apparently a very important, but mysterious figure stayed, always very well guarded.

Warmer clothes arrived for him from home, and, apparently without noticing, he started to wear what Mai laid out for him the previous night. But when she started to help him into a warm, thick cape for his walk outside, he frowned, and said that he wanted his coat.

Mai said, "Don't be silly. This is much better."

But Bellamy said stubbornly that he liked his coat.

Dieter was watching, and asked, "Where did you get your coat, Bellamy?"

Bellamy answered, "I think someone gave it to me," and Mai smiled in pleasure. He may have not apparently noticed, but it seemed he knew and valued his gift. She went and got Brand's old coat for him, and watched after him with a smile, as he and Dieter left together, and Alexander and Jed fell in behind.

At dinner that night, a very young man, introduced to Bellamy as Brian Draffen, took Graham's usual place. Bellamy nodded and stared again into the distance, as he did whenever he was not actually writing or eating. They suspected that his writing went on in his head, even when he was not actually at his machine.

As instructed, Brian quietly started to eat his own dinner, as Dieter and Alexander chattedeasily about a recent Verostic match. But then he started to do what he was there for.

Abruptly, Bellamy rose from the table, snapping, _"Don't!"_ He turned to Dieter, and added, "And I don't want family around me, either, thank you, Franz!" And he was gone.

"He's disapparated!" exclaimed Alexander. "I thought he didn't do that any more!"

Brian was staring at where he'd vanished. "I'm not family!' he said. "I'm no relation."

Alexander leaned back in his chair, half smiling at the boy. "Maybe you should check your ancestry. Bellamy always knows."

But Dieter said cuttingly, "He just called me Franz again. He probably doesn't know at all!" And then, efficiently, competently, he spoke to Jed, and to Jon, leader of the Swedish aurors, about mounting a search. He wished he'd planted location devices on him, but they'd been reluctant to risk irritating him. The telepathic probing that young Brian had been attempting had been deemed worth the risk.

Bellamy was in a temper, striding hard along a seaside path, not very far away. How dare they try to interfere with him! He was entitled to some privacy, and he thought that he should pick up his writing machine, and leave. But then he started writing in his head, forgot his temper, and in a while, stopped, staring at the sea, and then, vaguely, around him. He was lost. And he shouldn't disapparate, because one had to be very clearminded for that.

A shopper took pity on him after a while, as he stood under a street light and stared around him. "Are you lost?" And she checked the name on his hotel key, made sure he had some money, and put him in a taxi to take him back.

Bellamy quite courteously thanked the taxi driver, and started to walk away. The taxi driver gave him a blunt reminder - he expected to be paid. Bellamy flushed and apologised, giving a large tip.

The hotel porter met him, quickly followed by Jed as soon as he noticed. When the taxi driver complained that he was obviously gaga, and shouldn't be let out on his own, they both jumped in to defend him, the porter saying he was a genius, and Jed saying that he had no idea!

"Do you want to go back to your room, now?" asked Jed, ready to guide him.

But Bellamy said that he was going for a swim. Afterward, he looked at the spa, and it was no longer connected in his mind with unpleasantness, but only the remembered feeling of loving and tenderness. He no longer remembered Mario, Angelo, and the others, although it was their warmth, and the love of Mario, that had allowed him to turn the corner toward recovery. But there was a long way to go. And when Dieter put on his swimmers, and slipped in with him, and Bellamy calmly greeted him as Franz, Dieter knew there was a long way for him to go. Bellamy lay his head back on the yielding head rest on the edge of the spa, closed his eyes, and wore a look of contentment. Dieter wondered whether he even remembered the incident at dinner.

Graham waited for them when Bellamy returned to his room, and asked if he minded him doing a few checks. But Bellamy said absent-mindedly, "Not now," and went straight back to his writing machine, and started to talk.

Graham gently touched a couple of sensor devices to his hand, which he ignored, noted down the results, and left him. He wanted very much to do a thorough examination, but they still didn't dare risk irritating him.

Brian had been slammed out of Bellamy's mind the moment he tried to see, and was sent home, where he pestered his parents for a family tree. Bellamy wasn't on it, and he shook his head. Maybe it was as Dieter said, he didn't know after all.

During the next few weeks, they managed to influence Bellamy sufficiently that he was having a regular lunch, and Graham finally said that he was back up to a reasonable weight. He still hadn't managed to get him to agree to be properly examined, but was checking him out when he went into the swimming pool, or the spa. He quietly noted that there were new scars, almost certainly from the flogging, but few knew of that. It seemed rather shameful that their great wizard could have been such a pathetic creature that some probably perfectly ordinary man, had whipped him. It was lucky they never knew of a certain massage table! Guido had been very scanty with his information when questioned, so they never knew about the incident on the Marchesa, either.

Bellamy's activities at his writing machine changed. Now he mostly read over what he'd written, occasionally using the keyboard to make a correction or an addition. For another four weeks, he worked like that, but in a more leisurely fashion. He was no longer getting lost, and quite often acknowledged the aurors, even by name. When reminded, he started mostly calling Dieter by his correct name, too. Mai, he always greeted with real friendliness, and the other staff, too. They'd looked after him when he was distracted, and unlike the aurors, it was not because it was their job, or because they wanted him to work.

Now that it was spring, the weather was a little warmer, and his walks were longer. He startled the aurors once by suddenly slipping behind them, and taking a different street. It seemed he wasn't trying to lose them, though, and when Alexander asked him what he did that for, he spoke as if it should have been obvious. "There was a policeman!"

Finally, there came the day when he seemed to have leisure to use the gymnasium, leisure to stroll the streets, and buy a horrendously bright, woollen jumper. At dinner, instead of staring vaguely into the distance, he listened to the talk, and surprised them by asking about the rules of Verostic, which was a recent craze.

At coffee, he casually announced that he'd finished his book, and would do three or four weeks spell-breaking if they wanted him. "But here," he added. "I'm not going home."

The others were staring at him in surprise. "And I want to be paid in cash - in American dollars, please."

Dieter was nodding, trying not to let too wide a smile appear. He took pride in appearing imperturbable, but one of the aurors looked very odd these days, and another was helpless in hospital. There were a couple of others he knew, too.

"When can you start?" he asked, pretending to be totally unsurprised.

Bellamy was watching him, amused. "Tomorrow, if you want," and grinned when Dieter rose quickly from the table and went to see Jon. Afterwards, as if perfectly at home, he joined the aurors in the small sitting room they used.

Dieter found him there. "You said you wanted to be paid in cash, in American dollars. Do you want it in advance?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Not in advance, and I don't expect to be working long. So children and the most urgent cases first." But he continued, businesslike, "I can do a lot more than the usual sixty or so a day, and there's no need to stop for weekends. I'll work through for a while."

Graham said firmly, "I'll have to have a proper look at you, then. And I won't be fobbed off this time! We can't risk your health!"

Bellamy gave a sudden laugh. A memory had come to him of doling himself out some old and withered berries, relishing them one by one. It was the first food he'd had in days. Still smiling, he agreed.

Graham wasn't missing his chance, and rose. "In my room then, straightaway."

Obediently, Bellamy rose, too, leaving behind some very surprised aurors at this sudden attack of sanity and cooperation.

Graham was pleased with various indicators of health, and had a good look at those new scars on his side. Testing, he asked how he'd got them.

Surprised, Bellamy looked down at his side, twisting, and then inspected himself in the mirror. "No idea," he said finally. "But it's a pest. I reckon I already had enough scars to be going on with!"

Graham didn't mention that in a file were photographs of the result of a flogging. He worried that this might be just a short-lived improvement as they'd seen before, and he'd noticed that Bellamy had declined payment in advance. They would still take as much care as possible not to upset him, and no-one would have easy access, not even family. There was the fact that, in spite of an improvement, sec and niv measures were still down a touch, and LV decisively down from his normal. With the mental acuity and alertness monitors apparently useless with him, the LV measure appeared to be the most indicative of the state of his mental health.

At breakfast the following morning, Jed asked him about his book, and when it would be published.

But Bellamy shook his head. "It was a book only for me, and I made just one copy, and sent it home."

"So no-one will ever read it but you?" asked Jed.

"Not unless someone comes along who can break my spells," said Bellamy calmly.

"Seems a waste!"

Bellamy shook his head. "It wasn't a waste for me." And not long later, he wore the cape of a wizard, took up his wand that Archie had sent over, and started working his miracles. They were mostly Swedes that morning, as he'd taken them by surprise, but by the afternoon, his patients included children from a dozen countries, as well as some pitifully crippled witches and wizards. An English auror made his arrival on an ambulance trolley, and was casually cured with a second's attention from the great wizard.

They worked late, and Graham insisted on checking the Niscos before dinner. No change in LV, energy levels perfectly good, but Bellamy frowned at him, "You're not going to start fussing, are you?"

Graham hastily shook his head, and said that he was sure that Bellamy would tell them if he was tired. Bellamy grinned. Sure, just like he always had.

The next day was Friday, and again the work was routine. Dieter handed him a paypacket that afternoon, and he studied it, even counting the money. Dieter watched in surprise.

Bellamy saw him, and reddened. "It seems that somewhere along the track, I may have learned the importance of a paypacket." And then he grinned. "Easier money than most I've earned lately!"

Young Brian Draffen was back, sitting with them at dinner. Dieter gave the reason, "Pumpkin-heads tomorrow, nearly all of them from Italy. I thought Brian might be able to learn to tell if they were alive."

Bellamy nodded, but frowning. He didn't think he liked the boy. And when he felt the slightest of gentle probes, Brian heard in his mind, _Don't you dare!_

Brian recoiled, "I wouldn't," he said, shaking his head vehemently. "I wouldn't!"

Bellamy spoke aloud this time, "You'd better not!"

Dieter watched the byplay with a frown. He knew that Laurie and Johns had put the boy up to it, but disapproved. Didn't they realise that Bellamy would just leave again if they annoyed him? He was no longer taking orders.

That evening, Bellamy strode along the footpaths of Stockholm at a pace that made the aurors stretch to keep up. Jed was complaining about it to Ryde a bit later. Ryde was amused. "At least he'll get you ready for the fitness tests."

Jed nodded, "There is that."

Aurors had to pass an annual fitness test, or transfer to a different department unless there was a suitable desk job available. And Jed was big and broad, with a tendency to put on weight. He often had trouble.

The morning, as promised, pumpkin-heads. It was depressing. One after another, they were dead. Bellamy spoke irritably to Graham. "It's as if I don't have any rights of my own! I go away for a year or two, and then this awful thing happens to people!" Graham wondered if he had any idea just how long he'd been away. Except for that brief nine months' stint, it had been all but twenty years!

There was a pause, and several ordinary patients were led in, which Bellamy cured with a glance. For him it was all a bit of a bore, and when one young man kept pulling away from the auror trying to lead him out, in order to thank him repeatedly, he said in an irritated voice that he'd brought it on himself. If he hadn't been duelling, he wouldn't have needed curing! The young man drew himself up, and stated firmly that duelling was an honourable tradition.

"Just get out!" Bellamy told him.

Graham exchanged a glance with Dieter. He'd never been irritable when confused. Did it mean that he was getting better, or could it mean that he might become dangerous? And yet, he was giving afflicted people a new lease of life. There was another large contingent of pumpkin-heads expected shortly.

He still wore the irritable frown at lunch time, and was treated with care. But this was wrong, too, as he suddenly swore, and said, "Stop treating me as if I might blow up! I'm not about to hurt anybody!" And he pushed aside his meal and leaned against the wall instead, glowering.

They were keeping Brian well away from him, just having him check the pumpkin-heads as they came in, and seeing how he agreed with Bellamy. But so far, they'd just all been dead. Out of the next six pumpkin-heads, finally, they struck a live one. Bellamy's frown miraculously cleared. He had always been affected by the dreadfulness of the pumpkin-head curse, feeling for the victims of an indescribably awful imprisonment. "You'd best bring Brian in," he told Dieter. "He can see how it's done."

There was no delay, as an ambulance team had been waiting most of the day for something to do. Dieter sent Brian in, and another auror called Cindy, who was very much like her father, Ricky - small, slight, and lightning fast. Alexander was there, too. Bellamy's eyes lingered on Cindy for a moment before he shook himself. He never went with witches, and besides, crazy men weren't allowed to have sex. But was he really crazy any more? He wasn't quite sure.

"Listen with your mind," he told Brian, "And you'll see how it's done."

Brian was hesitant. "Are you sure?"

"Try it when I don't invite you, and I'll turn you into a frog," said Bellamy, quite casually. "But as soon as I start the job, you _are_ invited. Only to listen to me fixing him of course, nothing else." But his mind was very well guarded. Brian might have had a stronger talent than he did himself, but he was eons behind in skill.

He conjured a barrier, transparent, yielding, but with a door size gap.

"I've put a time limit on the barrier, Franz," he said, "Just to last the afternoon, but I'll only put a half hour limit on the door."

Dieter nodded, and didn't bother correcting the name. He was beginning to be used to it.

"Why the time limits?" asked Brian.

"No-one else can break my spells," explained Bellamy, "So if something happens to me, they'll go in a while anyway." And he asked, "By the way, did you pick this one?"

Brian nodded proudly.

Bellamy grinned. "Maybe I'll have you curing them by the end of the day."

Brian watched and listened and learned as Bellamy first cured the man, then sweated as he worked hard to keep him calm. But he learned absolutely nothing about Bellamy that Bellamy wasn't allowing.

"Ambulance team?" said Bellamy finally, as the man collapsed, sobbing.

One rescued, and Brian overheard the feeling of triumph. One pulled back from the abyss of madness and death. Bellamy cautioned him. "I'll tell you when you're allowed to start listening again."

But out of the next contingent of a dozen, there were none still alive, and Bellamy started to look bleak.

They were finished early, as so many of the potential patients had been already dead. Outside, it was cold and dark, drizzling rain. Bellamy leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, and frowned broodingly at the cobbled square.

Helmer joined him, and was greeted with reasonable courtesy. Helmer was his son.

"Do you remember the duel we fought when we first met?" Helmer asked, looking at the square. But Bellamy's head was aching, and the mists of confusion were starting to seep in again. And he only apologised and said that he was a bit tired.

Dieter came to his side, "Ready to go back to the hotel?"

Bellamy nodded, and walked with him. Helmer was frowning as he watched him leave. And he thought too, as Dieter did, that maybe they wouldn't have Bellamy around for very long.

Bellamy sat in the bar after dinner, still frowning. He was alone, except that aurors watched.

Graham joined him. "A bad day."

Bellamy nodded, and after a while, said slowly, "Pumpkin-heads are urgent, and I wasn't there."

Graham soothed, "You're not God, you can't be everywhere."

Bellamy spoke very quietly. "I'm not strong enough for this life, I think, and yet, for things like this, I'm the only one."

Graham looked down into his drink. "I thought you were a lot better, that maybe your book helped."

Bellamy looked about restlessly. "I'd go out by myself and get drunk if only I could get rid of the bloody aurors!"

"You're not apparating then?"

Bellamy shook his head. "I've still got enough sense not to do that when I'm unfit - mostly."

Graham said nothing more, and Bellamy, for some reason, drank lemonade.

When he went to bed, he curled on his side, and suddenly there was a memory of a feeling, rather than of a person, of the warmth and comfort of a big body beside him, protecting him and loving him in his very deep loneliness. But there was a silencing shield on the room that night, and an eavesdropping auror never knew that he cried.

***chapter end***


	33. Chapter 33

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 2_

In the morning, Bellamy was still depressed, and even before breakfast, he turned his passport and work documents over and over in his hands. Suddenly the birthdate changed on the documents. Again, he was nineteen.

Dieter had done some rearranging. The next twenty or so pumpkin-heads were postponed, and Bellamy had only ordinary patients that day. When he looked happier as the day progressed, Dieter commended himself. These patients were being saved as well, even if not usually from such a vile spell. Brian was kept out of sight. Word had spread, and crowds were beginning to gather, hoping for a glimpse of the world famous wizard. They were not permitted near.

That day, Beth visited Archie and Ursula at his home, in the company of Adrian, who had apparated with her, as Beth could no longer apparate by herself. Bellamy had never been told that Beth had been so badly hurt. They hoped he'd never know that it was because she was trying to cure pumpkin-heads that he would normally have done. Her father would probably have felt himself responsible, though he'd never really been responsible for curing all the ills of Wizardkind.

The result of the visit was that Archie and Ursula, together with their children, waited with the crowd that watched, as Bellamy finished his day's work the following day. Dieter had refused permission for them to see him, but Beth had explained how to overcome that potential problem. Three year old Margaret whined that she was tired and cold, but Ursula only conjured her a chair and a thicker cape, and assured her that they'd be seeing Grandfather Harry soon.

It was as Beth had expected. Bellamy heard Archie when he called with his mind, and upset the aurors by going straight to them where they stood in the middle of the crowd, hugging them both, shaking Peter's hand, and greeting little Margaret. The little girl scowled at him, until he reached behind his back and produced a doll, with red hair and a scowl. She laughed then, and the doll started to smile. He glanced around the crowd, and two wizards fainted. There were enemies as well as admirers watching that day.

The day's work was done, and the group started to walk back to the hotel, many of the waiting witches and wizards following, relishing the treat of the close look. Some had even seen that casual conjure, done without the use of wand or incantation. It wasn't long before the Swedish aurors managed to exert their authority, making them stay back, and pointing out that crowds of mostly caped witches and wizardry would cause too much comment once out of the wizarding area.

The aurors questioned the two wizards who'd fainted, suspecting Bellamy's hand, but magic was not allowed to be used on a suspect without real evidence of actual or intended wrongdoing, and they had to let them go. The moment those wizards revived from their faint, they'd given up the idea in any case. How could they defeat a wizard who could single them out and stun them, and scarcely even bother looking?

Archie and his family were introduced to Boedil, who was happy to arrange a room for them, and they were introduced, also with some ceremony, to Brand. Bellamy ignored the watching aurors, and himself carried their bags to their room.

Archie was not willing to put off his errand any longer. He took out his wand, and spoke the incantation for a silencing shield.

Bellamy waited, and Archie began. "Beth sent me. She said to bring you a lot of money which you're to put in your moneybelt. And I have another moneybelt if you've lost the one that she gave you."

Bellamy stood, staring into the distance as if he saw something there. So Beth didn't expect him to stay around. And his daughter always seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

He jumped. Archie's silencing shield had just been overcome, presumably by the aurors wanting to listen in. No-one else felt it. His own silencing shield replaced it, although he made no indication he was doing magic. Margaret played with her doll in the corner. Eleven year old Peter stood by his father. Ursula wore an anxious look, watching her daughter, and hoping the doll wouldn't suddenly vanish, as conjures did. Margaret could put on a very impressive tantrum.

At last Bellamy spoke. "I still have the moneybelt."

Archie went to his suitcase, and started taking out money in several currencies, lots of money.

"I won't need all that," Bellamy said, "I've scarcely touched the last lot." His moneybelt sat neatly under his trousers, and he removed it and refilled the one pocket that had nearly been emptied, paying for the hotel.

He glanced at Ursula, still looking at the doll, now yawning. "The doll will last until she's grown up, or loses it. Unless I've lost my touch, it's not likely to vanish quickly. And it won't show any changes of expression when Medjkind are close."

Ursula smiled at him. "Thank you, Harry. I didn't want to ask."

"Oh, and Boss!" said Archie, "Beth says to pass on that you _are_ allowed to use that money to pay for food. She was going crook because she said you went far too hungry one time, and she couldn't find you."

"She couldn't find me?"

"You were hiding, she said."

Bellamy frowned. He couldn't remember anything like that. The years of wandering seemed to be hidden in a deeper mist than his years of being a wizard, and his memories of that were patchy. At last, he shook his head, readjusted the moneybelt, which he still always wore, and suggested that his friends might like to join him for a swim and a spa before dinner.

He'd been putting it off, but in the spa, afterward, once Ursula had taken Margaret off to get ready for dinner, he asked Archie about those at home. Using a matter-of-fact tone, Archie said that his father had died, six months before.

Bellamy's expression changed as he said quietly, "Simon was like my own son, and Beau, too."

Archie grinned at him. "Beau's married."

Bellamy was stunned. "What?"

"Him and Sybil. Totally cosy together."

Bellamy was smiling all over his face. "Well, well, well."

Archie added, "Dobes is well, too, and you've got descendants of your Sheba winning showjumping prizes all over the country."

Archie was thinking he was doing well. Bellamy was wearing a very pleased smile.

"Did I ever tell you how I first found Sheba?"

Archie said hurriedly that he had, and quickly distracted him by mentioning that Bridon and Dianne were well, also Caradoc and Clare, and that Paul had married a young woman, not a witch, called Helena. "Bridon was furious. He puts great stock in being Pureblood, but Paul stuck up for himself and told him that other things were a lot more important!"

Peter sat quietly in the spa, feeling very privileged as he watched his father talk to the boss, who was so important. Uncle Beau had told him that if Peter helped look after him too, he would be the fourth generation of Barnes to do so. He'd been told a few family stories, though not that his great grandmother had been a prostitute and addicted to drugs. He did know about his great grandfather, Chris, and Chris's brother Peter, finding him as he wandered the streets of London in a daze, after burying his second wife.

At dinner, Ursula said that they'd be leaving in the morning. Bellamy glanced suspiciously at Dieter, who sat at the next table. But Ursula said, "No, they didn't say anything. It was Beth said that we should only stay a day, and then leave you."

Bellamy fiddled with his serviette, and said nothing. But that night he muttered and fretted in his sleep, as the sulky face of little Margaret came to him, and he remembered that he was a Monster and a Freak, and he'd probably see her grow old and die, as everyone else did.

He woke after a while, staring at the ceiling and trying to think. There was a pain inside him. The pain of seeing those he loved, die, always, one after another. The pain of being unique in his world. The pain of being a Monster and a Freak. Even the pain of being indispensable, so that his life was not his own. If he was to become himself again, he had to feel the pain, allow it to become a part of him, rather than only pushing it back, and shielding himself with the mists of confusion. He didn't know if he was strong enough, and when he woke in the morning, he forgot to put on his glasses.

Dieter took a glance at him in the morning, and consulted with Graham. He seemed perfectly normal again as he spoke to his friends at breakfast, but a planned day off was quietly cancelled. They may not have him long.

Pumpkin-heads that day, but not too many, and this time, Dieter had tried to arrange that it was not only the older cases that Bellamy saw. He became too depressed when they were all dead. There were two out of the first contingent of six rescued, without incident, except that he was unable to keep one calm. That one was taken off strapped to an ambulance trolley, under a spell of Deep Calm. Brian was there, and again Bellamy had permitted him to watch and learn. But Bellamy was very quiet.

Assorted cases in the afternoon, and for the first time, there was a case that would need the strong magic. Brian was still close, but no longer in the workroom. There were a few observers, behind the usual glass panel, including Helmer and his head auror as well as some others, two of them Departmental Heads with good prospects of being Minister after himself. Helmer wanted them seeing how valuable the man was. He'd overheard a comment that it was too dangerous to allow him to live, and he didn't want that sort of talk to spread.

Both Alexander and Graham had seen the strong magic before, and Bellamy expected no problems. He noticed that someone was warning the observers. It was an unpleasant spell that afflicted the young witch. Continually, she drooled, snorted, and trembled, totally ruining the sexual attraction she'd used to snare the boyfriend of another witch, more possessive than sensible. Tristina hadn't been able to seduce anyone for years.

The feeling in the air became more tangible. Bellamy worked hard to keep the silly girl calm, as he raised the intensity. Graham and Alexander watched unperturbed. One of those in the observation room moved restlessly.

The spell broke quite quickly, and the unpleasant and frightening feeling died from the air. Bellamy looked around. There was screaming outside, and his hasty strides took Alexander by surprise. But Jed and Ryde were both close, Jed now kneeling over Brian, who held his hands to his head, no longer screaming, but with tears leaking from his eyes in the aftermath of the acute pain he'd suffered.

Bellamy gently touched his head. "Silly boy! Have you never learned to shield yourself?"

Brian pulled himself to a sitting position. He was trembling, but could speak again. "How could I? There's no-one else like me."

Bellamy spoke gently. "There are many others with the same sort of telepathic talent you have, maybe most not as strong. You just have to find them."

Brian looked at the ground, starting to shake his head, but stopping when it hurt too much. "I've never found a single one."

Bellamy admitted, "It's rare, but there are others." And he smiled, "You'll probably even find someone to marry, and it's an exceptional marriage when you can have that sort of a communication." He added, but in his mind, _And sex with a Telepath is pure dynamite!_ He didn't only convey the thought, but a feeling of all his own love of life and joy in sex came with it.

Brian smiled hopefully at him, "Really?"

Bellamy grinned. "Really!"

Bellamy waited as Graham checked Brian. It seemed he was quickly recovering, but when he asked Bellamy hopefully if he'd help him learn to shield himself, Bellamy suggested he go and see his daughter, Beth, that she could help him better than anyone else possibly could. And he added, "Get Simon to send you a copy of my book on spell-breaking, too. It might be useful."

Dieter was close, as always, and quietly noted that Bellamy seemed to have forgotten that Simon was dead.

The rest of the day was routine, except that Bellamy found he had a very long list. They were making the most of his availability. There was scarcely time to change for dinner. Brian seemed fine again, but Bellamy was again abstracted.

Later that evening, Brian joined him in the swimming pool, and the aurors, Keith, Dieter and Jason watched in surprise as the swim turned into horseplay, and the eighteen year old youth, and the man so much older, cavorted and splashed and laughed. At the other end of the pool were a half dozen female tourists, and Jason nudged Keith, and said, "He's looking!"

Bellamy may have been looking, but he was talking to Brian. He didn't argue when Brian mentioned that he was definitely not related, though he was sure that he was wrong. But there was no point in bringing up old scandals, and it was fairly obvious that if he was related, it was a little way back, and it was not a legitimate relationship. He'd never heard of Brian's mother.

They talked about Brian's telepathic talent, too, out of the hearing of the aurors, who watched, curious, but not interfering. Brian didn't make the mistake of trying to look at Bellamy's mind, but instead their conversation was about the ethics of telepathy. According to Bellamy, probing should only be done for a very good reason.

"So what's a good reason?" asked Brian.

"Hardly any, really," said Bellamy. "Maybe if you have a strong reason for thinking someone's about to throw a Death Curse. Even the telepathic cure only tells you about the person as a by-product, and not very much."

"Any other time?"

"Well, I sometimes need to impose calm when I'm working the strong magic, in order that a patient doesn't panic."

Brian admitted, shame-faced, "They said that I should try and see how sane you are."

Bellamy was watching him, a quizzical look on his face. He didn't ask, but Brian suddenly said, "You're about the sanest person I know!"

Bellamy laughed at him then, shaking his head. But his eyes found the tourists again. "Well, maybe I'm temporarily sane enough to enjoy the company of a woman."

Keith and Jason grinned at each other, as both the young men swam toward the tourists at the other end of the pool. But Brian's youth was betrayed when he immediately started talking to the most attractive of the young women, and Bellamy's experience was shown when he smiled at the oldest of the group. It was Bellamy who had company in his bed for the next three nights until Rebecca regretfully told him she'd be leaving the next day.

In the morning, she ran fingers over his body, tracing old scars, and touching that new one on his side. "What happened here?" she asked.

Bellamy made an offhand remark about an accident, but after she went back to her own room to pack, he looked at himself again in the mirror. What had happened there? He started to tremble. The details hadn't come back to him, but there was a sudden frightened knowledge that crazy men were not supposed to go with women.

He was late for breakfast, and when Dieter checked on him, he sat unmoving, trembling, as he waited for the pain to start.

When Graham came, he was still quite obviously upset about something, and pointblank refused to allow him to make his checks. Graham organised a breakfast for him in his room, and stayed with him a while. Quite suddenly, Bellamy shook his head, poured himself a coffee, and seemed better. The healer was more than ever convinced that they wouldn't have him long.

There were other opportunities to meet women who might be bedmates, but Bellamy made no move to talk to any, and was unresponsive when a perfectly pleasant and attractive woman approached him. His next paypacket was casually put into a pocket, but that evening he hesitated and started to take the wrong corridor to his room before correcting himself.

The aurors were changed around, and now Keith stayed close, including duty in the workroom. Keith was big, had long black hair and beard, and startlingly bushy black eyebrows over penetrating dark eyes. He bore himself with a dignity that seldom went with the athleticism needed by aurors. Day after day, the crowd pointed out the great wizard to each other, and they nearly always pointed to Keith. The aurors were amused, but Bellamy was looking increasingly vague these days, and didn't appear to notice. He never took much notice of the crowds who waited for a glimpse of the famous wizard.

There was another auror assigned to him, Dieter thinking that Bruce could do with a little more exercise, like Jed. Bruce was heavy set, and not athletic, but he had a brilliant analytical mind, and Dieter was highly pleased when he lured Bellamy into a complex discussion about something most of them had never heard of. Anything to call him back to the world of wizardry.

But Bruce wasn't above begging Bellamy to slow down when he walked, and Bellamy, surprised, would slow down. Bruce, cunningly, would then point to a park bench, and launch into discussion about something he thought that Bellamy would have to know about. For a brief while, the teacher and researcher made an appearance.

They were keeping Brian out of Bellamy's way after Graham noticed that he looked away when he came close, and then, quite often, started to tremble. It was inevitable - Bellamy had become fond of the boy, and now when he looked at him, Brian's old age and death would pass before his eyes. His confusion was coming back. There never seemed to be the thinking time he needed to battle the pain, or rather, to accept the pain in order to be able to live with it. There was always work, every day, for long hours.

The third paypacket. He'd been working two and a half weeks non-stop. His wallet was stuffed full. Whenever dressed, he wore his moneybelt. One evening, he picked up his backpack, and not even thinking about what he was doing, he carefully packed it with two pairs of jeans, two shirts and a towel on top. Brand's old coat wouldn't fit. A comb and a shaver were in a side pocket, underwear in another, the same as he always packed. Tidying, he vanished all his conjured clothes, especially those clumsy, conjured shoes that gave him blisters. He had plenty of his own clothes now, and his shoes were comfortable. The following day, when he went to work, Jason checked his room, regarded the neat backpack, and attached a location device.

On Graham's insistence, he was given a half day off, and they took him to a place where he could ride horses, although only Cindy, beside himself, could ride. Gradually, he started to look more at rest, as they trotted along a quiet track through thick forest.

But he was becoming more and more vague, and now waited for guidance when he became confused. There was always someone close, someone looking after him, and there were location devices on him now, which he made no indication of noticing. He was told he was to go to Germany for a week's work. He said again that he didn't want to go home. It was the first definite thing he'd said in days. He didn't want to go home. But Dieter soothed him. Just moving on to Germany, where he was very much needed. Bellamy didn't even make his standard complaint about the Germans' liking for duelling. Just nodded.

Their own private aeroplane took them to Germany Monday afternoon, after a last morning's work in Sweden. He stared out the window, once leaning forward, watching the tapestry of field and towns seen far below. He wondered how many of those roads he'd followed. He sighed, and leaned back in his seat, but Graham, watching him, noticed that his eyes were wet. They were losing him. All Graham's measures were showing a deterioration. He was even thinner. And he was doing exactly what he was told again. Graham thought it the worst indication of all.

He used it, though, to tell him to join him for a spa soon after their arrival. It was another big, luxury hotel, with all the facilities the Swedish one had, with the addition of some very expensive shops on the ground floor. The aurors had been warned off, and stood at a distance, watching for danger, as always, and watching that Bellamy wouldn't too easily escape. Not that he was a prisoner, of course. But he did what he was told again, and that was almost as good as prison bars, better with a wizard as powerful as Bellamy.

When Bellamy leaned back his head, and closed his eyes, enjoying the hot water bubbling around him, Graham started talking. Graham was sixty-four, and thought he was old enough to have acquired some wisdom. He was a sensitive man, who'd developed into an excellent healer. Graham was saying that when there were difficult issues to face, it often helped if one did it piece by piece. That sometimes a job was too big and difficult to do all at once.

He thought at first, that Bellamy wasn't listening, but Bellamy opened his eyes, looked at Graham, and said, "It _is_ too big and difficult, and I don't know how to make it easier."

Graham had a good idea of the reasons for Bellamy's distress, but how could he advise a man who was old before he'd been born? And Bellamy had such a depth of pain in his eyes.

Graham was hesitating. "Maybe," he began.

Bellamy waited. He needed help. He was losing himself again, and being in the wizarding world only seemed to make it worse. He thought his book had helped, but there had been no time to feel the benefit, to do the work of self-knowledge that would keep away the clouds of confusion that seemed to press closer each day.

Graham was suddenly definite. "I think you should work at re-learning to enjoy each day as it comes. Forget about the past, forget about the future. Live in the present, and only in the present."

Bellamy put back his head, closing his eyes. Graham did the same, he had no more to say, and doubted that he'd helped. It was nearly a quarter of an hour later that Bellamy spoke. "I'll try to do what you say. I think you're right."

It didn't seem to make any immediate difference. That night, the aurors heard the usual sad and confused murmurings in the night.

Pumpkin-heads again, but only four. He'd checked so many, and rescued just three. And of these four, he dismissed three as dead straightaway.

The last one was a woman, or had been a woman. He held her hand a long time, his eyes closed, concentrating. And then, quite suddenly, he was all business. "She's all but dead. She'll need immediate attention, and expert attention. Graham, send for what you need, but I'm not delaying. I'll do her straightaway," and he led the vegetable/woman into the workroom.

Keith asked, "Didn't I hear you always made a barrier?"

Bellamy scarcely glanced at him. "This one will be very difficult. I can't have a barrier."

Dieter hurried out the door, and whistled up Cindy, who was so fast. Keith was good, too, and he'd stay himself.

Graham was still hurriedly talking to the German Coodinator, and some swift action was being taken. 'All but dead!' he'd said.

When Graham returned, the monster was sitting, and so was Bellamy, who held her hand. Physical contact helped. It was obvious that he was expecting to make a prolonged effort.

Brian had thought the woman dead, unable to find any remaining spark of spirit. But Brian watched and listened. Bellamy had forgotten him, and Brian was surprised when he learned more about Bellamy than he would have wanted to betray. He stopped himself, then. He didn't want to be turned into a frog, and besides, Bellamy had convinced him of the need to respect privacy.

Bellamy concentrated. His head dropped, his eyes closed. After a while, it could be seen that he'd started to sweat. The woman was too far gone. After forty minutes, Bellamy opened his eyes and shook his head, dizzy. But the monster was unchanged.

Bellamy rose and leaned against the wall. A trembling attack started, and increased to violent shaking. He shook his head, trying to throw it off. Keith asked, "Take her out?"

Bellamy said No, he'd have another go in a minute. While Bellamy waited until the trembling stopped, Graham organised the woman onto an ambulance trolley. If she was all but dead, she'd need to be wheeled away in any case.

"Franz," Bellamy said. "I'm going to try the strong magic. And as I've never managed to cure a pumpkin-head with pure power, it might become very strong. You'll need to get rid of the observers, and Brian, you'll need to go a long way away and work at closing your mind so that it doesn't hurt. Maybe just apparate a few miles away for a little while. You others, if it gets too strong, just clear out. This one will be in no state to attack anyone."

Dieter nodded. He'd given up correcting Bellamy's use of the wrong name, and he'd made enquiries. Franz was someone who'd become a close friend of Bellamy's, and was reputedly an excellent auror as well. Dead now, of course. Maybe it wasn't so bad to be called Franz.

Bellamy frowned at Cindy, and suggested she go a long way away, too.

Keith asked, "What about me?"

Bellamy shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I just have the feeling that Cindy won't be able to cope."

Cindy put her chin up in the air, "Of course I can cope!"

Bellamy smiled. "Your father couldn't, and he's the best!"

Cindy looked considering. "Dieter?"

Dieter nodded. "Outside."

Bellamy had stopped trembling, and paced the floor a few times, before stopping in front of the woman. He forgot to raise his wand, just stood, concentrating. A power started to grow in the air. Graham continued to make notes. He liked to keep a thorough record of cures. Suddenly he frowned, shaking his head, and looked up. Keith had retreated to the wall, and looked pale. Dieter, he suspected, was trying very hard to remain unmoved. Graham shook his head again, and then slipped out the room, followed, with relief, by Keith.

Dieter lasted a little longer, and the power still grew. The waiting room had cleared, ambulance men and two mediwizards waited a hundred yards away, and even the German aurors, guarding from a long way back, were looking uneasy. One suddenly fainted, too reluctant to betray weakness by leaving his post. There had been a watching crowd, as there generally was. There were hardly any left.

Another ten minutes, the power thrummed in the air, ever-increasing. Bellamy still concentrated, but finally a woman lay ashen faced on the trolley. Concerned, Bellamy felt for a pulse, before going outside and looking around, surprised at the lack of movement, and then whistled loudly.

Graham emerged with one mediwizard. Another sat against a wall, his throbbing head cradled in his hands.

Bellamy watched a moment as they went rather slowly into action, to save the woman. He went back outside, and smiled. His cape was left draped over a chair, and he strolled unhindered out of the wizarding area as aurors tried to clear dizzy heads, not noticing their charge make his escape.

Many hours later, in the early hours of the morning, two men tried to steer Bellamy in the direction of the hotel. They were almost as drunk as Bellamy. Bellamy and Roth were having a deep discussion about two entirely separate topics. They were interrupted by a very poor joke, poorly told by Ancel. Roth and Bellamy thought it hilarious.

The three stopped, swaying, at the imposing entrance of the hotel. Alexander confronted them, unable to stop the grin appearing, as he attempted to talk firmly to Bellamy.

Roth observed solemnly, "It's a big black man. I wonder what he wants."

"I like big black men," said Bellamy. "I liked Kingsley, and I liked Jebedee, and I even liked Nathan who carries a knife. But I think this might be all of them. I can see at least three big black men."

Roth pointed a wavering finger, "I think it's that one that's real." And he spoke gravely to Bellamy. "You've had too much to drink, or you could tell, too."

Dieter, most uncharacteristically, was doing something that sounded awfully like a giggle. He could speak German, though Alexander couldn't. But choking down the undignified giggle, he went to the three, and using his own perfectly good German, he welcomed Bellamy back, and asked if he wanted to go to his room now.

Bellamy sadly said to his friends, "It's Franz. He's going to make me work now. Franz always makes me work."

Roth drew himself up, and stared imposingly at Dieter. "You shouldn't make Bellamy work so hard. He needs his rest."

Dieter said, "You're quite right. Bellamy should rest now, and I think I should just help him back to his room."

Ancel was suspicious. "I don't know about this. He might be trying to take advantage of your drunken state. I've heard about men like that!"

Bellamy was shaking with laughter, "I don't think Dieter would do that!" And Dieter noticed with surprise that he'd actually been given his correct name.

With much hugging, and a chorus of loud goodbyes, to the disapproval of a waiting porter, Ancel and Roth left their dear friend, met a few hours ago, and staggered off. Alexander went to Bellamy's side and supported him. Dieter was talking to Keith, to call off the search, and surprised a perfectly knowing and thoroughly mischievous look from Bellamy.

"Speak English, Bellamy," pleaded Alexander, as he steered him through the foyer.

And in English, Bellamy offered, "I can sing for you if you like. I sing very well when I'm drunk!"

Alexander rolled his eyes, but Dieter was amused. He wasn't sure how drunk Bellamy really was, although the stagger certainly seemed genuine. But for the first time, he was beginning to like the man, quite apart from his responsibilities.

Bellamy was bright eyed and showed an unusual merriment at breakfast, seeming entirely recovered from his drunken spree. He surprised his aurors by making a detour on the way to work, studying the wares in the shop windows on the ground floor. "I need to do some shopping," he announced. "Is there time today?"

Dieter had begun to think that they really were working him too hard, but there was another very long list.

"They stay open late," said Keith, "I was looking at them yesterday."

"That all right, Bellamy? After work?"

Bellamy nodded, "Fine."

Graham nabbed him before the first patient, checking the Niscos in spite of Bellamy's impatient frown. Graham distracted him by saying that the pumpkin-head was making a good recovery, although one of the German aurors still insisted that his head hurt.

Bellamy was surprised. "It's only magic; it can't really hurt."

Graham grinned. "And how many of your minders saw you go yesterday? Or did you use magic?"

Bellamy shook his head. "No magic, they just didn't look very hard."

That afternoon, Bellamy carefully chose some very expensive gifts for his friends at the Swedish hotel, gifts for Brand, Mai, Boedil, and the others, too. They were all in good taste, as those few exclusive shops didn't stock the sort of lurid colours that usually attracted Bellamy. He arranged for those gifts to be sent, but then it was like he'd done what he needed, and over the next days, Graham knew that he was again drifting into confusion.

They took him to France for the next week. He'd become a lot worse, but still did his cures, usually totally automatically, though he still seemed to manage to pull himself together sufficiently to do the more difficult cures when needed.

One afternoon, when he didn't seem to know anyone any more, Graham did his checks, as he was accustomed to, and then slipped a watch on each wrist. "You like to cover those scars, don't you?" he said. "Now they're covered and no-one will see them."

Bellamy gave a vague smile of agreement and started to wander off. But now he wore a sensor device, and Graham's corresponding monitor showed weight, LV and energy levels, the most useful measures of health. The sensor looked like an ordinary watch, though it kept very poor time. The other was just a watch, but was also a location device. The location device had a range of nearly a thousand miles, much more than usual. The sensor had a range of nearly three hundred miles, the best that could be managed.

Bellamy was in such a daze that Dieter agreed with Laurie that he could be taken home. They thought they might be able to keep him for years, maybe. Confused, but obedient and useful. They let him carry his backpack always, as he liked to do. They had begun to think it had the same significance as a security blanket, although Graham disagreed. They didn't tell him they were heading for England, but on the way to the aeroplane, he suddenly balked, threw Dieter a furious look, whirled around, cape swirling, and disapparated.

Bellamy was gone, and out of range of the devices that might otherwise have been used to track him.

The aurors looked to Dieter for orders, forgetting to keep a lookout, as the one they guarded, was gone. A small, dark-faced man close by, took the opportunity he'd been waiting for. Keith, who looked exactly the way a great wizard should look, took a Death Curse in the back. Cindy, with lightning reactions, stunned the attacker. It didn't change the fact of Keith's death. It was a risky business, being an auror.

***chapter end***


	34. Chapter 34

_Disclaime__r: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 3_

Bellamy left France in the afternoon. His disapparation had been a spur of the moment thing, done without preparation, and without the clear mindedness essential for the feat which could be so dangerous. Without a destination in mind, he arrived at a place which had once been familiar to him. A small town in Queensland, Australia. Roma. And straightaway, he knew it was Roma, although it was the middle of the night, and lightly raining. A great feeling of ease and contentment came over him, but he was so terribly, terribly weary. He found a neglected park, found a hidden place, and put down the backpack he'd been carrying. He started to wrap himself in his cape, but paused and pulled out his wand. The wand was sent to his home, where it would be safe.

And then he slept. He slept on and on, quietly, deeply. And as he slept, the knowledge of his world and his past gently slipped away. He no longer knew that he was unique in his world, and he no longer knew that he was needed, regarded as indispensable for the cures he could work that no-one else could work. He no longer knew that he had ever been the great wizard, and he no longer knew that he had once been the innocent boy whom a furry bear called Mario, had loved.

For over twelve hours he slept, finally woken by the sound of children playing, laughing and calling, and throwing stale bread to ducks. Inconspicuous in his black cape, hidden by shrubbery, Bellamy stretched and smiled. He felt light, clear headed. He felt wonderful, although he was wet through. He was at ease with himself. He was Henry Bellamy, he was young, and he had enough money to last him years if he chose. He had no past, no future, no responsibilities. He was no longer a crazy man, and had forgotten that he was ever a crazy man. The sun was shining.

He rose from the puddle which had developed under him as he slept, and used his casual magic to clean and dry himself. The wizard cape was vanished. He had no use for the garment, now. He was hidden enough that he could even change his clothes, and the good quality clothes he'd worn were also vanished, as he put on casual jeans instead, and the brighter coloured of his two shirts.

Before the knowledge that he could work magic slipped from his mind, he put a charm on his backpack. It wouldn't be stolen. And although he'd forgotten that he sometimes became lost, he put something else on his backpack, like a signature, so that he could always find it again. His actions were not quite comprehensible to himself. It didn't worry him in the slightest.

And then he slipped on the small backpack, and the most famous wizard in the world went shopping in a small country town in Australia. He needed a jacket, and although it wasn't the gloriously bright red he fancied, he found a suitable jacket. He thought he had plenty of clothes now, but stopped when he noticed his reflection. His hair was shoulder length, and unevenly cut. Ruth, in the local hairdressers, gave him a neat, ordinary cut. He was pleased with himself, and would have smiled at Ruth in a different fashion if he hadn't noticed her wedding ring.

He was strolling again, aimlessly. He had a meal, and afterward, became sleepy. This time he booked in at a motel, and again slept a long time, from afternoon until early morning. He woke smiling. The idea was fully formed. There were farmstay places near Roma, where you could ride horses, and someone gave you meals. Sylvia, at Reception, knew just the one. She gave directions, not realising that he had no car, even phoned for him and booked him in.

He remembered breakfast only because he started to pass a fast food place on the outskirts of town. He was never fussy about his food, but this time, he took a bite, and frowned at the cheese burger before shrugging his shoulders, and eating it anyway. And then he started walking, referring occasionally to the little map Sylvia had given him. He wore his glasses. Sylvia had a wedding ring, too. He'd noticed.

There were horses, as he wanted. He was supervised the first time. Joel Campbell, the owner, needed to make sure that he was safe before allowing him out on his own. But his strange guest saddled his horse as if perfectly familiar with the process, while Joel watched critically. He rode in no formal style that Joel knew, but he seemed safe enough, and developed an instant understanding with the sedate gelding.

After that, even before breakfast, he'd whistle up 'Lightning' and amble off, bareback, seldom even bothering raising a canter. After the second day, Joel asked if he wanted a more lively animal, but Bellamy declined. He liked people around him he knew, he said. Joel refrained from pointing out that Lightning was not a person.

There was a swimming pool, but it was April, no longer summer. It didn't stop Bellamy, who swam every day, lapping the pool again and again, tirelessly. Joel shook his head, but made sure the pool was always sparkling clean and ready for use, even as the weather began to turn more cold. He was an undemanding guest, uncritical, and apparently perfectly content to do nothing but ride, swim, and sometimes read.

After several days, a regular guest came to stay for a week. She had a stressful job in the city, and found the relaxation she needed with Joel and Meredith. Bellamy was introduced at dinner. There was suddenly an aura about him that had Helen staring. Meredith herself felt it, and wasn't in the slightest surprised when she noticed them going to Helen's room together. She wasn't surprised, either, when Helen extended her stay.

Helen began to be more curious about Bellamy. At first, when she started asking questions about his past, he'd put her off with more love-making, until she forgot her curiosity. She soon realised he didn't like to be questioned about his past, and refrained. She never thought of him as a long term prospect, as he was obviously younger than herself, and seemed to have not the slightest aim in life. But he'd given her such pleasure that the morning she was to leave, she suggested a token. She would give him her watch, and he would give her his.

He agreed, casually, but when she started to pull off the sensor device, he said it didn't work well, and gave her the other instead. She caressed his wrist, as she strapped on her own good quality watch, noticing the scar, and saying nothing. She had come to the conclusion that there was a reason he never spoke about his past, and this scar, like all the others, probably had something to do with it. So she kissed him again with a great deal of affection, and returned to Sydney, taking with her the long range location device that Graham had put on his wrist a month or so before.

The aurors had already been in Sydney as well as in Melbourne, checking for signals from the location devices he wore, and found nothing. They were searching Europe, and they were searching America very thoroughly, since he'd asked to be paid in American dollars. Even without the watch, Bellamy still had location devices on his glasses, his backpack, and his shoes. But the aurors never came within range. Helen now wore his watch, but after a while, when her fiancé became more possessive, she put it away with a few other mementos.

After six weeks of an undemanding life, Bellamy rose one morning, knowing that it was time to go. He'd been contented, living purely in the present. He had always enjoyed vigorous activity, and had always become restless with too little to do. Yet he'd been contented, even after Helen left. He hadn't even gone into town, and declined when the Campbells suggested various activities. So they left him alone.

He started walking, going east. He fed himself well, bought himself meals regularly, and stayed in motel rooms. There were women along the way, and he stayed a while with Jennifer, with Melissa, and with Kylie. His mind was clear. He no longer turned a vague and innocent stare to the world. But he was not himself, either. He had yet to recover the utter joy in life that he'd once had.

The day that he only found his way back to his motel from the feel of the charm on his backpack, and later realised that he'd forgotten to eat, he lay on his bed a long time looking at the ceiling. It was coming back, a confusion that he'd forgotten had ever plagued him. He had to stop drifting. Somewhere, some time, there had been a friend who had referred to a big and difficult job. Work that had to be done, but just a little at a time.

That night, as he slept, he became restless, and finally spoke aloud, a bitter protest. "It's too hard!" But in the morning, he was clear-minded again.

"A job on a cruise ship," said the man at the employment agency. "Just like that, eh?" But the man in front of him was young and goodlooking, in spite of his glasses, and cruise ships liked employing the young and goodlooking. He made a phone call, and handed Bellamy an address. "Go see this man, and he'll tell you if there's anything available."

The stout man that Bellamy wound up seeing, rudely smoked a cigar, and blew noxious fumes into the air. Bellamy was polite. The man said reluctantly, "Well, there's a French Canadian ship in, the_ Belle Chartreusie_, but you'd have to speak French, of course."

Bellamy nodded. "I speak several languages, including French."

The man raised his eyebrows, but job applicants often lied, and they'd soon see if he could speak French. He was given an appointment for the following day. The note that went separately said that he'd claimed to be fluent in French, and made no mention of other languages.

Bellamy had wanted a job in a cruise ship because there was a knowledge within him that he would be looked after, fed regularly, and have a bed. And he couldn't wander off and get lost. Somewhere inside him, he hoped for a warmth that he didn't quite remember. It never occurred to him that he was being employed under false pretences, pretending to be normal, while knowing that he was not.

On this ship, Bellamy had a small cabin to himself, as they all did. He fitted in easily, although making no close friends. He was clear-minded as he learned his way around, learned his job, and came to know his workmates. And when a proposition was put to him one day by one of his work-mates, for the ease and comfort of both of them, he declined with an easy courtesy.

The Belle Chartreusie cruised the world, and catered mostly for the very wealthy. They picked up passengers and dropped passengers off at many ports. They had some permanent passengers, too, who had discovered that a continual cruise was not much more expensive than decent nursing hostel care, and with far better food. He saw Estelle a lot, as she walked slowly around the ship, getting her daily exercise. There was old Berthe, too, also Sam, and Jock who looked so ancient that he was surprised to learn he was not long past eighty.

One morning, as Bellamy passed by on some errand, Estelle was knocked over by an early morning jogger, and it was Bellamy who helped her to a chair. She hadn't even realised that there was a chair so conveniently to hand. After that, he always kept an eye on the old ones, watching for hazards, and with a strong arm ready if they needed it.

He occasionally used magic again, knowing that he was a wizard, but not thinking about, or quite remembering his past, or thinking about his future, either. Graham's words had come back to him. _I think you should work at re-learning to enjoy each day as it comes. Forget about the past, forget about the future. Live in the present, and only in the present. _And when an indefinable fear and a grief came to him in the night, he refused to allow it to take over. Sometimes there was a confusion that tried to seep in, but this time, Bellamy was waging a war. It was not time yet to face everything, but he still had a struggle to remain clear minded.

He concealed his battle from others, as best he could, and no-one knew when he had to feel his way back to his room by the charm he'd put on his backpack. His work was simple, mostly working a split shift these days, early morning cleaning, and kitchen duty during the passengers' midday and evening meals. He didn't think anyone knew that sometimes his eyes filled with tears and he didn't know why.

His supervisor saw him a couple of times, shaking his head, as if to throw off a headache. And once, he had to remind him of the job that he was supposed to be doing, but Bellamy was trying very hard not to need prompting, and managed to stifle the occasional impulse to wander off, instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing.

It was Estelle who surprised him one morning, as he walked with her, listening to her describe the pampered poodle owned by her daughter-in-law. Estelle was laughing, and Bellamy laughed with her. It seemed her son couldn't get into bed with his wife without running the gauntlet of little Fluffy-Bot. And with a totally abrupt change of subject, Estelle told Bellamy he should take himself to the ship's doctor, that there were very good drugs for depression these days.

Bellamy looked at the old lady with a great deal of surprise, and then turned his steps again to walk slowly with her at her pace.

Estelle was crossing her fingers that he was not offended, but he only said, "You're very perceptive."

Estelle touched him, and said, "Get help. And if you don't get help, you can tell me if you like. I've no doubt that I've heard it all before."

Bellamy said simply, "Thank you."

Estelle gave him a shrewd glance. "You have no intention of sharing your troubles, do you?"

"I guess not."

Estelle spoke with asperity. "Young people always think that older people won't understand, but usually things that bother them are so boringly mundane, and boringly repetitive."

Bellamy half grinned as they continued the walk. He always liked to walk with Estelle. He enjoyed her wry comments and her sharp intelligence. Bellamy couldn't quite remember what bothered him most of the time, but asked her. "So what would you recommend as treatment for various unspecified problems, aside from drugs which I have an inherent objection to?"

Estelle snorted. "You need a girlfriend, that's all, solves most of the ills of mankind!"

Bellamy laughed, "Sounds an excellent treatment. But I don't think we're allowed to play with the passengers, and there's not a single female crew member not spoken for!"

Bellamy was in full agreement with Estelle. He was probably only suffering from an excess of celibacy. Bellamy's immediate supervisor was a man called Marcel. Marcel regarded the young man with a look of amusement when he was asked the question. Are crew allowed to go with the passengers? He shook his head, definitely. "Can't have the girls getting their feelings hurt!"

But Bellamy persisted. "What if one just went with older, more experienced women?"

Joking, Marcel said he was allowed to go with any single woman passenger who was over forty.

Bellamy objected, "It's a bit hard to tell sometimes if a woman's over forty; over thirty would be better."

Marcel still thought he was joking, and said "Over thirty-five then!"

Bellamy was next seen escorting a divorcee to dancing lessons.

In the morning, as he mopped the floor, he had to be reminded that he was too close to the passengers' cabins where most still slept. He wasn't allowed to whistle, and besides, he whistled very badly.

***chapter end***


	35. Chapter 35

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 4_

Over the next weeks and months, Bellamy became a standing joke to his workmates. Marcel couldn't say anything, as Bellamy followed the rules as he saw them, and tried to stick religiously to those women he thought were over forty, and definitely over thirty-five. He never hurt feelings, and, unless dismissed, never started with another woman until the previous one left the ship. A lot of women had a wonderful holiday with a young and goodlooking man who was an extremely good lover.

He laughed and whistled these days, and became a general favourite. He still didn't know his past, had no thought at all to a future, but was quite definitely enjoying the present. Estelle wasn't sure whether to be amused or disapproving. When she'd recommended a girlfriend, she hadn't expected him to take her advice quite so enthusiastically. He walked with the other old ones, too, and while Berthe was apt to talk about the ills of fornication, Sam and Jock were delighted, thoroughly approving.

There came the day that his latest girlfriend firmly escorted him to the ship's doctor, and watched, laughing at him pretending to be brave as he was given his REF injection. She thought it very funny that he trembled, but consoled him afterwards, with great skill. The doctor was amazed when he said that he didn't think he'd ever had a REF injection. It was routine. Everyone had a REF injection. Bellamy said something vague about moving around a lot.

He was in demand by the Games Coodinator, as his delight in play was infectious, and the dancing master roped him in regularly as a partner for spare women. It was through these activities that it became known that he could speak extra languages.

He was called in to the Personnel Officer one day, and asked exactly what languages he could speak. As he had before, he had difficulty with this question, but when asked if he knew a specific language, could answer easily. He had so far avoided talking to anyone about his past, and manners stopped nearly everyone persevering with unwelcome questions. But Evas was persistent.

Bellamy still didn't know his past, and became more and more disturbed when Evas wouldn't leave him alone. He started to shake, to the surprise of Evas, and turned silent, distressed. Evas finally abandoned his line of questioning, and made him a cup of coffee instead, although looking at him with a very penetrating gaze. Bellamy avoided his eyes, and after a while, stopped trembling. It was only then that Evas asked him why he was upset.

Bellamy evaded the question. "The trembling means nothing. I have minor trembling attacks now and then." And, stubbornly, "It means nothing."

Evas asked him if he knew Japanese, and Bellamy shook his head. "Chinese, though, both Cantonese and Mandarin. Also Arabic."

Evas shook his head in disbelief. "Russian?" he asked.

"Enough to get by. I'm not fluent."

But he was a bit of a mystery man, and possibly unstable, and Evas dismissed him, not offering him the planned place in the purser's office until he consulted with the purser and the other officers of the ship.

The purser didn't care that the new man might have a mysterious past, or became upset if questioned. His language problems were frequent, and a competent interpreter would be of enormous help. So Bellamy no longer mopped floors, and washed dishes or moved large boxes in the hold. Instead, he sorted out problems, and translated whenever required. He was good at it, too, with a knack for getting at the heart of the matter, which was often not quite what appeared to be the complaint. It was soon seen that his claim to know so many languages was not an idle boast. He was valued, his pay was increased, and he was having a wonderful time.

The officers used his skills sometimes, and found him supremely useful. The Second Officer had him equipped with two good quality jackets, such as they wore themselves, except without insignia, to wear over his uniform. He needed to look a little more formal for some of his current duties. Captain Rousseau wanted him in a few days in Piraeus, for example, where he liked to go to the Officers' Club. There were Ship's Officers' Clubs in many ports, and they were very popular. But there were many different nationalities, and always there were language problems. Having Bellamy at his side would give Rousseau the chance to talk to those who didn't know either French or English.

May, in Rome, twelve months after Bellamy joined the ship, he stood at the side of Rousseau, with a grouping of three other captains, Greek, English and Italian. He was concentrating, translating a four way conversation, trying to remember who understood what.

The Italian looked up, and greeted Giovanni Guido. Guido greeted him, and joined the group. In the midst of introductions, he stopped, mouth agape, and stared at Bellamy, "Henry Bellamy?"

Bellamy looked at him, eyebrows raised, a politely puzzled look on his face.

"I'm Captain Guido, Henry, don't you remember?" He spoke gently.

Bellamy looked away, and his face wore a confused look that it hadn't worn for a long time.

Captain Rousseau looked at Guido, and then at Bellamy, who had started to tremble. He remembered what Evas had said, that Bellamy had become distressed when questioned about his past. The Greek said something. Rousseau had to touch Bellamy on the shoulder before he remembered his job, shaking his head, trying to throw off the shock. He was a ghost from his past, but he couldn't remember his significance. The Greek repeated his words, and this time they were translated, but jerkily.

Bellamy wasn't needed after a while, when Rousseau became very involved in talking to the English Captain. Bellamy was trembling again, looking at Guido from across the room, and feeling lost and confused. He did not remember him, and it brought home to him that he had lost a lot of himself. He felt as if he'd been on the Belle Chartreusie forever, but knew that he couldn't have been. He stared out the window, at the black night, sipping at a glass of wine that the Greek had given him. He didn't like it much.

Guido joined him, using the same gentle tone, "Hello, Henry."

Bellamy was silent, looking at him defensively.

Guido said casually, "You look a lot older when you wear glasses."

Bellamy nodded slightly. He didn't know what to say to this man whom he couldn't remember.

Guido continued, "Would you like me to tell Mario that you're with the Belle Chartreusie?"

Bellamy frowned. Mario? A feeling of warmth and comfort came to him, but he couldn't quite remember the man.

Guido extended a hand, and touched him on the arm. "Don't worry about it, Henry. Forget I was here."

Bellamy nodded, relieved. He could do that. He was good at forgetting.

Guido spoke to Bellamy's Captain Rousseau before he left, though. Both their ships were to be there for a few days yet. Rousseau was curious, not having missed Bellamy's shock at the appearance of Guido. They glanced at Bellamy, who was now translating Greek to English for someone else. He looked perfectly at ease, and was shortly laughing at a joke, having forgotten that he was supposed to be respectful. Rousseau had noticed that sort of behaviour before. On occasions, he acted as if he was someone of note. There was often an assurance about him that seemed not quite compatible with his youth and relatively lowly position.

The following day, Rousseau spoke with Marcel, Bellamy's original supervisor, as well as the purser, who valued him highly. And he watched from a distance, as Bellamy escorted his friends, Estelle and Jock, to comfortable deckchairs, and brought them drinks. He wasn't on duty, fairly obviously, as, shortly afterwards, he whispered intimately to a plain woman of around forty, who smiled at him with delight, and they went off together in the direction of her cabin.

And then Rousseau visited the Costa Rivera, where Peter Inglis, Giovanni Guido, and Esta Raef waited impatiently. Most of the Italians had a smattering of English and French, but they'd arranged an interpreter anyway, another officer, new to the ship. Rousseau found himself the recipient of some very curious and interested questions.

"Simple-minded? Bellamy?" Rousseau laughed. Bellamy had a good intelligence, did his work very well, and he also told them about his exploits with the female passengers. He hadn't known about it before, but Marcel had told him how he'd jokingly given him permission to go with any single passenger over the age of thirty-five, and how Bellamy was taking full advantage of it. Loud in the minds of the Italians were thoughts of Mario, whom all were quite convinced had enjoyed a sexual, as well as a loving relationship with the boy whom they'd known. But none mentioned it to Rousseau. They told him about the fight on the Marchesa, though, and how he'd come to them afterwards, still in shock.

Guido spoke seriously, finally. He was positive that Bellamy hadn't recognised him, although it was less than two years since he'd left the ship. There was still something badly wrong with him.

Esta spoke firmly. "I would like to examine him, and maybe he should see a doctor - a psychiatrist. Your own ship's doctor should be advised."

Rousseau nodded. "I'll arrange it."

The following day, Rousseau called Bellamy aside, and said that he'd arranged for Dr. Esta Raef and Dr. Scott, their own ship's doctor, to have a thorough look at him, with attention to possible amnesia and mental problems.

Bellamy said, perfectly coolly, "No."

"It's an order, Bellamy," said Rousseau.

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, "Or?"

Rousseau was becoming annoyed. "You do as you're ordered!"

Bellamy shook his head. "No examination."

Rousseau's tone hardened, "Do you want to be fired?"

Bellamy smiled. "In the last three weeks, I've had four job offers. It seems that languages are handy to have."

Rousseau snorted, but said nothing further about firing Bellamy.

But Esta found him anyway, as he used some of his off duty time in the ship's library, rearranging books. He liked books, and the one whose responsibilities included the library didn't seem to mind if they were out of order. There was no-one else there. And when Esta first saw him, he was holding a little book with a picture of a mare and foal on the cover, and staring into the distance.

"Do you know me, Henry?" she asked.

Bellamy looked at her, and the knowledge floated back. "Catherine."

Esta didn't correct him, but Bellamy was looking at her with a defensive, half frightened look. "Do you want to show me around the ship?" she asked.

He smiled at her, relieved. "I'd like that very much."

Bellamy told her a little about the ship as they strolled - they'd be going to London soon, and then America. Out of the blue, he said, "It's really Esta, isn't it, not Catherine."

Esta nodded.

They were silent for a little then, and she joined him at the railing as he regarded the Costa Rivera in the distance. Forgotten faces were coming back to him. Silvio, Taddeo, Bruno, Nino, Angelo and Mario. At last he spoke. "They were very good to me, you know."

Esta still suspected the men had taken advantage of him in his defencelessness, but said nothing about that. "Mario would like to know you're safe and well."

"He wouldn't know me now, and I said good-bye to him a long time ago."

"If I just told him after you were gone?"

Bellamy's forehead creased in indecision. And then he shrugged, "If you think so - I won't be staying with the ship much longer." The decision had come into his mind fully formed. It would soon be time to leave, to start knowing the past again.

Esta pointed. "A nice long pool."

Bellamy smiled, "I enjoy that pool. There's a gym, too, and a sauna, though I've never liked saunas."

"A spa?" asked Esta, who'd heard a rumour about late night sessions in a spa-room.

Bellamy nodded, "Not open to the crew, unfortunately. There's only two, and always in demand."

Esta put her suspicions finally aside. He would not have been so unmoved if anything unpleasant had occurred in the spa-rooms.

Bellamy consulted his watch. "Staying for lunch?"

This was another change, Esta noted. He had those revealing scars covered. "What's your schedule for today?" she asked.

"Lunch, and then I'm on duty. There's a new intake of passengers, and that's always busy." He spoke as if it was entirely routine.

Esta said warmly, "It's good to see you so well."

Bellamy was frowning. He didn't quite remember, but asked, "Was I a terrible nuisance?"

Esta asked, "What do you remember?" and Bellamy admitted, "Hardly anything."

Esta asked, "Do you think you should get professional help?"

But Bellamy looked at her with a vivid enjoyment on his face. "See Estelle over there, she recommended I find a girlfriend, and that's been better than any doctor!"

Esta reflected his grin. "We heard about that!" She kissed him good-bye then, and went to see Rousseau before she left. She recommended that Rousseau just leave him alone, he was working out his own cure.

Bellamy was left alone, then, to do his work, although Rousseau and a few of the other officers watched his activities with some additional curiosity. Dr. Scott looked after him curiously, too. He wondered why the Captain hadn't insisted on the arranged examination.

There was a remark made to Rousseau just a few weeks afterward. "You know who Bellamy's going with now? No less than the widow Boehm!" And the informant chuckled as he added, "Only about the wealthiest woman in the world!"

Rousseau frowned a bit at this? Was he after money? Maybe, after all, he should be discouraged.

But Ada Boehm made a mention of Bellamy at their dinner table not long later. "Your man, Bellamy. A bit of a mystery man, isn't he?" Rousseau said cautiously that he didn't know. Ada quizzed him further, but he only said he didn't make enquiries into the pasts of his crew.

Ada continued, "I've been having a lovely time with him. And then I offered him some money. He seemed absolutely taken aback - and then he declined perfectly politely, and said that he was actually a very wealthy man himself - and then he looked all confused, and said, 'I think!' He went all quiet, then."

Guido frowned in thought. "He said he was a very wealthy man?"

"He said that, but then he didn't seem to know."

Guido admitted then that Bellamy was a bit of a mystery man, and that his past was unknown.

"Maybe I should make some enquiries," said Ada. "He's so young. Maybe he was kidnapped when just a child, or something, and there's some grief stricken parents somewhere."

But when Ada spoke seriously to Bellamy, later on, as they lay together in bed, he was very definite that no enquiries should be made. Ada wasn't sure, but he said, "Please, Ada?" She patted his cheek, and agreed. She was leaving the ship the following day, and in spite of what she'd said, she did ask around among her friends. But her circle wasn't Bellamy's circle, and nothing was discovered.

In the Ministry of Magic, about the same time, Graham consulted a monitor, as he did now and then. For the first time, there were readings. No-one had readings like Bellamy, and Graham knew that he was close, still wore the sensor, and was better than he'd been in a long time. He didn't tell the aurors. He'd come to the conclusion that Beth was right. When he lived in his own world, he deteriorated. He needed to find his own cure, and he needed to find it a long way from his own home and family.

Meantime, the aurors tracked down a young man with black hair and glasses, who wore a long range location device. To their considerable annoyance, it was a dead end. His aunt had been killed in a car accident, and he had kept a nice looking watch.

***chapter end***


	36. Chapter 36

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 5_

Bellamy spent his next birthday alone, living in a small hut, close to a National Park in America. Every day, he went out, walking the tracks of the national park, and talking to the birds and the animals. Every evening, he was writing. The book was not deep or significant. It was a story about merpeople, presented as a fictional children's book.

When he finished the writing, he made the illustrations, and had his writing machine make eight copies, in Italian. One was just wrapped and sent home for his own library. On the others, he put a picture of his own face on the inside cover, and signed them. These special copies of his little book were sent to Esta, and to those six warm men with whom he had once shared a cabin. The manuscript went to an ordinary publisher, who would take a lot longer to publish the books.

It took a while for the package of individually wrapped books to arrive at their destination. And when it did, Mario said to the others, "See, I told you he was a bit magical! And it's like the other one, the one about horses. I think he really did write it, just like he said!"

Taddeo and Silvio looked at each other, almost convinced, but Angelo wore half a smile on his face. He said nothing, but he didn't think that a magical being would have allowed himself to be used as Bellamy had been used. Now he was safely out of the way, he allowed himself to think about those times in the spa-room quite often. They were his favourite fantasy.

Bruno and Nino enjoyed those remembered scenes, too. But for Mario, what came into his mind most was the remembered feel of holding his boy cuddled close to him at night. When he thought of Bellamy, he thought of holding him like that - with tenderness, and with love.

Meantime, Bellamy started writing a book about eagles. He could call birds from the skies, and know their minds. And the book he wrote about eagles had more truth in it than any written by a scientist, no matter his qualifications. But like the book about the merpeople, it was presented as a beautifully illustrated children's book.

By the time this book was finished, early profits from the first book were starting to trickle into his account, and there was no more need to use money from the moneybelt that he still mostly wore. There was another thing he was doing. Without working at it, his past was gradually coming back to him. He chose not to push it, but each day, he knew more of who and what he was. One day, he finally detected the tiny location device attached to his glasses, and rendered it inactive. He checked then, and did the same thing to two others he found among his things. He took no notice of the sensor device on his left wrist. The apparent watch covered an embarrassing scar.

After the second book of the series about animals, he moved bases to Western Australia, and wrote a story about dolphins. Then to Europe, and the fourth and fifth of the series were about otters and squirrels. The sixth was about wolves, still living wild in Northern Europe.

Six manuscripts, with illustrations. The writing machine had a memory, and he went back and translated the books into French. He was going to use a French publisher. And while it was being organised, he lived in a small town in France, and started another project. The memory of a sad and broken roundabout had come into his mind. It took a couple of weeks, but he was able to find it again. He assumed he'd seen it sometime during his wanderings. This time, he wasn't going back to the wizarding life until he was fully himself. He was positive that he would only fall to pieces again if he didn't do the work he had to do. But it was like Graham said, it needed to be a little bit at a time.

The rundown house in which he now lived had a vacant block next to it. He hired a widow called Gabrielle to come in every weekday, to tidy and clean. She also made sure he had at least one good meal each day. After the first week, she suggested that bed would be nice. Bellamy was happy to oblige.

The children of the small town watched in fascination as the half wrecked roundabout was set up on the vacant block. A large workshop was there one morning, and there was always activity within. Bellamy had not often worked with his hands, but this time he did. The frame of the roundabout was renewed where necessary, Bellamy not hesitating to use magic in parts when he needed. He wasn't that clever that he could do without.

And then he started painting. The townsfolk raised their eyes at the vividness of his chosen colours, but the children loved it. After a while, all the children of the town knew him, and he knew them. It took longer for the adults to adopt the strange man, but that happened, too.

And then he started on the horses. Each of the horses had names, and each was different. The carving was done in his inner workshop, and no-one was allowed in. But the painting was done in an undercover outside area, which was also just there one day.

The roundabout was a little like his book, the one with Mischief and her foal on the front cover. Life went around and around in a circle, with minor variations. His favourite horses became roundabout horses, looking like roundabout horses, but each also looking like the horse he remembered.

The children learned them by name, as he worked on each new horse, and told them its story. Pinto was there, who undid catches, and wriggled under gates, in order to mate with mares that he wasn't allowed to mate with. Tambo, a brown gelding from a very long time ago, who loved to buck and play with him, and became very lonely when he went away. Kildare, and when the wooden figure of Kildare was added to the roundabout, another wooden figure was added, a black and white dog that ran at his heels, and whom he said was called Tammy. There was Forrester, who had been to the Olympics. When little Mischief was added to the roundabout, he called the local mechanic for help. Mischief had to buck, but only gently.

He spent a long time on the figure of Sheba, and even the children became tired of his stories about her. The very last was a figure of a fat sheep, whom he said was called Milly.

And then he wrote a very little book, with pictures of his animal friends as he remembered them, and the stories of their lives. And his friends, the children, were each given a copy of that little book.

Meantime, every day now, Graham checked his monitor. He had still not told the aurors that Bellamy was close, and gradually, continually improving, according to the LV levels.

For ten weeks, Bellamy played with his completed roundabout, enjoying the happy music, and entertaining the children of the small town. But then one morning, he strolled into the mayor's office, and told him he was giving the roundabout to the town, complete with the house next door, and the block of land on which it stood. He was leaving now, he said, and congratulated the mayor on having such a nice town.

The mayor still had his mouth open, and was very relieved to see a solicitor later, who assured him that some essential paperwork had already been completed. The children had known that he'd be leaving soon, and were not surprised when he was gone.

Gabrielle had known, too. But she'd always known that he was different and strange, and not for her. But she smiled secretly to herself. He'd left her with something, though he would have been astounded to know it. He worked the spell, religiously, every time. And Gabrielle had her own methods, of course. Contraception was excellent in that day and age. But Gabrielle was pregnant, and Horst had wanted her long enough that he was thrilled to have her, already pregnant or not.

Publishing of the six animal books was well under way, and negotiations were already proceeding for its translation into other languages. But, as agreed from the first, a different publisher would handle the English version, and Bellamy would translate it himself. Bellamy wanted that one to be special.

Graham, back in London, knew the day that the LV measure finally read at Bellamy's normal, 294, when normal for every other wizard was 100, a little less for Medjkind. He happened to be actually watching when the readings blinked out. To have gone so abruptly, it was almost certainly a disapparation. Again, Bellamy was out of range. It was the middle of November. Bellamy was a hundred and forty-nine.

Not wanting to go to England, Bellamy took his manuscripts to a Sydney publisher. They were thrilled at first, as the books were already becoming very profitable in other languages, but had not yet been translated into English. But Bellamy was specifying many additional illustrations, a fine quality binding, and insisting on a low final retail price. They had to be affordable, and they had to be special, as he wanted to send books home to his family, he said. But to publish the books of Henry Bellamy was already felt to be an honour for the small publishing house, and Bellamy was perfectly willing to subsidise the expenses of the extra illustrations, and the quality bound book. He would have his way.

As soon as he was satisfied, he left his book for others to look after, and embarked on the final part of his journey to recovery. He had learned to live in the present, he had finally managed to know and understand his past, with the exception of those years in which he had wandered in confusion. That part of his life might always be hazy, he suspected. He had yet to do some real thinking about the future. He had to know and fully accept that all those whom he saw around him, would grow old and die, while he remained the same, unchanging, forever young.

It may have sounded good, it may have even been good if one didn't care for others, but Bellamy had found it too difficult. There was one thought that had him smiling wryly. What if he worked hard, had all the wisdom he could acquire, and then suddenly died anyway? What a waste of effort! No-one else had _ever _appeared not to age at all, and when he studied himself in the mirror, he still saw not a single sign of ageing. He noticed the whip marks on his side, and shook his head. He couldn't remember the details still, but a memory came to him of a sudden blinding knowledge that he'd done wrong, and returning a whip to a very angry man, who wanted to punish him.

Bellamy became a beach bum. He walked methodically around the coastline of North America, first the Eastern coastline, and then the Western coastline. He had plenty of money for food, and plenty of money for shelter, although sometimes, he'd simply curl up on the beach instead. There came the day when he walked past the walls of Zefron school, and wondered whether Adrian still taught there. He even looked at the gate through which he'd passed so often, but then shook his head and went on. Soon, it would be time, and if many of those whom he'd cared for, had died, then he would accept it. He was finally beginning to acquire the serenity of spirit that he needed.

One day as he walked, he thought about Mario and his friends. They'd been so important to him. He'd sent them each a merpeople book, thinking they might like it, remembering a time when they laughed at him because he told them about merpeople.

His memories of his cabin-mates had remained patchy, sometimes very hazy, long after other things had become clear. But they were connected in his mind with so much warmth, Nino playing with his hair, Taddeo and Silvio, as they romped with him in the swimming pool, and Mario's big furry body curled around his. He was still human though, and he stopped dead as something else came to him, and his face flamed. He couldn't have! Surely not! It was so alien to himself. It was not that he condemned man to man sex, whether true homosexuality or the sort of expedient acts of homosexuality he'd taken part in. But he thought he would never have submitted voluntarily.

Bellamy explored his contradictory memories of his time on the Costa Rivera for weeks before he realised what was important. First they'd seduced him, and he'd been in such need of the loving contact, that he'd only objected right at the end, and even then, had never made any real resistance. And then they stopped for a while, and then - and he shook his head, trying hard to remember. Had they drugged him? And yet, each time Nino combed out his hair, and each time Taddeo hugged him or Bruno squeezed him closer, it had helped him begin to defeat the pain within, that had been too strong for him to defeat alone.

And Mario. It had been so good to feel the warm comfort of that furry body wrapped around him. He wondered if it had been just Mario who'd had sex with him, rather than all of them, would he have stayed with him?

He took days to answer that question. The reason he had fled was that it was the wrong way for him. He had needed to escape. And even if it had just been Mario, he would still have fled. But his eyes were wet. He thought now that maybe he really had loved Mario, even though Mario could not have loved him, because he didn't know him. And after more days, as he methodically walked the shoreline, he came to the realisation that there was a core of a person that was always the same, even if he appeared different on the outside. It had been himself on the Costa Rivera, as much as it was himself that walked the beaches. Mario had indeed known him, and had indeed loved him.

And after even more days, he admitted to himself that the sexual contact in the spa-room had been connected with so much loving warmth, that it, too, had helped him defeat the confusion that affected him. Mario, Bruno, Taddeo, Silvio, Nino, Angelo. They'd wanted him enough that in the end, they'd drugged and raped him. And he knew that if it hadn't been for those six men, he might still have been wandering in the wilderness.

Bellamy never remembered a man called Uberto. Maybe he wasn't important enough.

During his travels, many people had been very good to him, trying their best to look after the simple boy who'd wandered their way. Most he would only ever remember vaguely. Some were so long ago that they'd be very surprised that, in his appearance, he was exactly the same. A visit would not be good policy. But there was one who came back to him, again and again. One who'd helped him in his deepest need.

Bellamy walked in Rome a while, before sufficient memory came to him that he found Father Tarzia's shelter for homeless people. He leaned against a wall for a long time, trying to think, before he finally knew that it was only a few years before that he had known Father Tarzia. And vaguely, blurrily, there came to him a picture of a little cat, that had kept him company when he'd been too weak to walk. And a kind face that had looked at him and taken pity. The priest had called him Jean, and had given him food.

Bellamy didn't know whether to approach him, or not. But Tarzia tended to watch the street outside his shelter. Sometimes, the men who came to him for help, seemed half wild, reluctant to come into the warmth of company and help. In the end, it was Father Tarzia who went to Bellamy.

At first, the priest didn't recognise him, and asked if he needed help. Bellamy looked at him, and the memory finally came back more clearly. "Father Tarzia?" not quite knowing how to begin.

With the additional prompt of a voice, Tarzia questioned, "Jean?"

Bellamy reddened a little. For all his years, for all his time spent fighting for wisdom, he still blushed. "I came to thank you."

For Father Tarzia, it was a miracle that restored his spirit. The homeless men he helped were seldom grateful, and hardly ever did his aid seem to make much difference to their lives. They were plagued by addictions to alcohol or drugs, or by mental illness. But this one had come back to thank him. And he took this one in his arms, and cried over him.

Bellamy didn't only help his morale. He organised a regular payment from his royalties from his merpeople book to go to him, so that Tarzia would no longer need to rely on small and unpredictable donations in order to run his shelter.

Bellamy never remembered Francesca. But although he hadn't remembered to work the spell that instantly vanished semen, and although Francesca had no knowledge of contraception, and little understanding of the risk she'd run, there was no baby until twelve months after her wedding. Her father may have thought she was 'spoiled' because she was no longer a virgin, but the sexuality in her nature made her husband a very happy man.

***chapter end***


	37. Chapter 37

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 6_

Two weeks before Bellamy's birthday, he was in Sydney, wishing for escape. He'd always hated speeches, and had only agreed to a Book Launch when it was put to him as a means of helping a young author who couldn't afford one. So this was a shared book launch. He was even expected to make a speech himself. It was all of three sentences, although his fellow author spoke for more like half an hour.

Bellamy set his face in an interested expression as best he could, and thought about the book of Keifer Howard, whom he'd been allowed to read prior to the launch. He liked the book, but suspected that it would not be a commercial success. Keifer wrote for intellectuals, like himself. Quietly, he'd organised for two boxes of forty each, to be bought on his behalf. He planned a little more exercise in organising sales, later, even if he wound up with a ridiculous number of his books. He thought Keifer deserved success, and was planning to ensure a good profit for him.

Afterwards, he congratulated the young man on his early sales, and gratefully accepted a signed copy. Keifer had a brilliant intellect, and was tall, gangling, and walked with a slouch. He wore his hair long in a perfectly conscious affectation that was supposed to make him look 'arty.' But Bellamy, too, now had long hair again. He didn't care about looking arty, and was wondering how soon he could make his escape. It was not looking promising, as the curvy and vivacious young woman called Mandy, who was the current girlfriend, was having a lovely time among all these people whom she thought so important.

Keifer had been given copies of Bellamy's books prior to the launch. They were now doing the rounds of the university where Keifer's sister, Pat, lectured. The professor who'd not long finished three years of research on dolphins, was loud in his condemnation of rank amateurs presuming to know about animal behaviour.

Pat was amused. "They're only presented as children's books," she said. And once that was established, Professor Gievrot suddenly smiled, and said that they were extremely good, and had given him a little more insight himself, into behaviours that had been a mystery.

So Professor Gievrot was at the Book Launch, several other professors from Sydney University, including, of course, Professor Patricia Howard, Keifer's sister. Pat was almost as tall and gangling as her brother, wore glasses, had untidy hair, had very prominent collar bones, and a depressed breastbone, that made it appear as if she was as flat-chested as a boy. She was thirty-four, absolutely brilliant, and had a strong sense of humour. She had never had a relationship with a man, and didn't think she wanted one. She had developed some contempt for the mating game, having never quite made the race.

The publisher had been keeping a worried eye on Bellamy. He was not supposed to leave until the end, and was not sufficiently hiding his boredom, even when people were congratulating him on his books and piling on the flattery. He'd refused to do any signing, either, saying that he'd injured his hand. When pressed, he showed a bandage around his right hand, with a sinister brown stain that might have been blood. But Scott hadn't missed the utter surprise with which his escort had looked at the bandage.

It was not until Keifer, Pat, and a couple of the other professors became involved in a deep discussion about the oddities of monotremes that Bellamy became interested. The discussion thrived and started ranging wider.

Bellamy started to say something before pulling himself up short and blushing red. Dragons were not supposed to exist, and so were not a suitable example to use in this company. He used a different example, instead, insisting that all animals were infinitely more knowing than people were willing to allow. Professor Gievrot accused Bellamy of anthropomorphism, and Bellamy accused Professor Gievrot of the conceit of thinking that humans were markedly different from any other animal. More wine flowed, and when Scott whispered to Bellamy, he said, By all means, but this time he should get beer as well.

Guests were trickling away. Mandy was yawning, but Scott watched with considerable interest the lively talk that had developed between the strange man, Bellamy, and some of the intellectuals. It was perfectly obvious that Bellamy was a lot more than an author of fictional children's books. He missed the signs that Bellamy had become increasingly interested in Pat Howard. Mandy did, too, discounting possible competition because of the brilliant woman's lack of conventional physical attractiveness.

When Mandy finally told Bellamy that it was definitely time to go home, Keifer made sure that he wasn't allowed to leave before accepting an invitation to dinner for the following week. Pat would be there, too, and he'd try to arrange an escort for himself. Keifer hadn't missed the signs of a strong intellectual accord between his sister, and the man who'd begun to be a friend.

Bellamy continued to enjoy Mandy's charms while in Sydney, although increasingly socialising with Keifer and his associates, including, of course, his sister. But Mandy was getting a bit fed up with him. Certainly he was good in bed, and goodlooking enough to make an escort that would reflect credit on her, but he was not always willing to be shown off, and when she dragged him to a formal occasion, he'd somehow slipped out and not returned until the speeches were over. And he wasn't sharing his life with her. He was not a long term prospect. And then there was Bradley, whom her parents recommended as a potential husband. Bellamy found himself dumped.

Bellamy had always been extremely good at luring women into bed with him, and hardly ever did they regret the experience. With just a change of expression, and a change of tone in his voice, a woman would know that she was very much desired, and would feel, too, that he was desirable. It was not magic, and he'd never known himself just what it was. Part of it was selection. Well before he knew he had any telepathic talent, he had always somehow known when a woman enjoyed sex, and was likely to react happily to an invitation. More often that not, he hadn't even needed to make the invitation, as the woman would do it for him.

It wasn't working with Pat. She said, perfectly coolly, No thanks.

Bellamy had had such success all his life with women, that he was, at first, dumbfounded. He shook himself, and told himself what a conceited oaf he must be to have had such an easy expectation. He swallowed his disappointment and continued enjoying her company, along with Keifer, and, quite often, other assorted intellectuals whom they knew.

Bellamy thought it must be time to return to his own world, but was reluctant. He was swimming and surfing every day, and had made other friends. He had not been in touch with any witches or wizards, who had mostly made Melbourne their home. But he would go and see his daughter in the Pacific Islands.

Beth hadn't seen her father for over twenty years, and wasn't expecting him. But when she felt his closeness and looked up, there he was, walking toward her, arms open. She hurried to him and pulled him very tight. He was well again, and she didn't think he would be ill in the same way ever again.

There were changes on the tiny island of Noonga Tuku. A small tourist hotel was gone, and now a Catholic mission overlooked the village.

"The hospital's worthwhile," said Beth. "I don't think the villagers have benefited from their conversion to Christianity though. And she pointed to a woman who walked close. "There's a lot more dignity in native dress or even nudity than in those ghastly flowered dresses the nuns hand out!"

Bellamy looked, and agreed. And if the native women were newly converted Christians, and there were no tourists, it looked like he might have to apparate to Tahiti or somewhere, when he wanted a temporary girlfriend. He supposed that wasn't so hard.

Beth was still well, looking far less than her age. She was now in her hundredth year, but looked to be in her seventies. She admitted to him that she'd lost her magic, putting it down only to age. She hoped not to tell him that there had been an accident when spell-breaking.

Bellamy knew there was something she was not telling him, but refrained from probing. Beth was a natural Telepath - her telepathy was in a different order of magnitude than his own. Sometimes it was very hard for Beth not to hear things that were strong in someone's mind, even when they didn't know it themselves. And she was not above some probing, although she did it very subtly, as she knew her father would very much resent it if he felt it.

She'd always known him better than he knew himself. After a couple of days, as they reclined on the tropical beach close to her home, she was smiling to herself. It was not just that he seemed to be completely recovered, it was the fact that she was quite sure that he was in love, and hadn't realised it yet. Hermione had told her the story of his second marriage once - how she'd been throwing him and Luna together, seeing how they were so obviously made for each other, and yet, at meeting after meeting, Bellamy had been too stupid to make that change from companionable friendship to a sexual relationship. She'd been pulling her hair out in utter frustration at his stupidity, Hermione said. Luna finally raised the subject herself, and then, of course, he'd been overjoyed. It had been a very happy marriage until her death. Luna was Beth's mother.

After a week of swimming and surfing in the tropical sunshine of Beth's home, and long talks with his beloved daughter in her gardens, Bellamy was feeling out of sorts. He must have had too much sun. Beth was amused. It was just as Hermione had said. He really was very stupid in some respects. It was patently obvious to her that he was very much missing Patricia Howard.

Bellamy had never had to work at winning a woman. Beth thought that it might do him a lot of good, although there might have been some jealousy tinging her feelings. Poor Beth had never been able to seduce anyone, and considered herself very lucky to have found Jeremiah, who had been a Telepath also, and then her current husband, who, unfortunately, had lost interest in a physical union with his wife.

But at the end of a fortnight, when Bellamy sighed and supposed he should do some spell-breaking again, she told him that he should not go back yet. Even that he should not see any of his family yet. That his cure was not complete and that he needed another six months in order to avoid suffering a relapse the moment he returned. And then she suggested he go back to Sydney, seeing he was enjoying the company of Keifer so much.

Bellamy looked at her with narrowed eyes, and then smiled broadly at her as he realised how happy he was to hear her advice. He hugged her tight, packed, and was gone.

Beth loved her father very much. But for a moment her eyes were wet with some unaccustomed self-pity. Her unusual gifts had made her unpopular, often even hated, all her life. She thought her father was probably going to wind up married again, and probably loving his wife with all his being, as he'd loved each of his preceding three wives. He just didn't know it yet.

Bellamy didn't know it yet, and when he organised a yacht trip on the harbour for Keifer, Shelley, Keifer's partner, and suggested he bring Pat, he was still only thinking that he wanted a girlfriend for a while. He didn't even wonder why he wasn't tempted by Sandy, whom he met at the bar, or Emma, who was at the beach.

It was a lovely day in the sun, and the four were reluctant to see it end, sitting in a club for a long time as the evening wore on. Keifer very much wanted to see his sister happy, and didn't understand how she might fear that the little nagging ache of a plain woman, rejected, might turn into an agony too hard to bear, if she had it, just once, for a little while. Bellamy was such a strange man, who never revealed much of himself, even if he was fun to be with, and even if they could talk on an intellectual plane that few could share. The limitations of what he was offering were obvious to her.

But Keifer coaxed Shelley to join him at the other end of the room, leaving Pat alone with Bellamy. Bellamy was desperately wanting. He touched her arm, and said, "Pat?" and she knew he wanted her. But she tore her eyes away from him, and again, she said no.

Bellamy was looking at her still, wanting. And she was as lonely as he was himself, and she wanted, too. But she said calmly, "I don't want sex, but I'm pleased to have you as just a friend."

She made Bellamy ashamed of himself. She didn't want it, so why did he persist?

For three days, he tried hard to think of her as just a friend. He didn't succeed, but he didn't leave, either, though he did go to bed with Tina, who lived down the road.

The courtship that was not yet a courtship was interrupted.

In a large house in London, hidden from wizardry by spells and enchantments, the Tulloch family added another auror to their collection. The family hobby had its start a hundred and thirty-seven years ago, when the Minister of Magic of the day, Cornelius Fudge, had given them the assignment of preparing a very secure prison for a wizard who had the potential to be too powerful. Bellamy, then known as Harry Potter, was supposed to live out his lifetime there. The plan was hatched when he was just turned twenty-three. The attempt was made, as soon as there appeared to be an opportunity, a year and a half later. The attempt failed, and Fudge lost his position as Minister for Magic. Gwyneth and Rene Tulloch were so disappointed that they took Fudge prisoner instead, and it was Fudge who lived fifteen years in a large cage, and then died there. His corpse was left where it lay, a skeleton now for over a century.

The Tullochs of the time missed having their caged pet, and did some modifications to the cell. The one large cell was divided into four much smaller ones. Two aurors were taken prisoner, by the simple expedient of ambush and capture. From then on, generation after generation of Tullochs enjoyed their little hobby, always going for aurors, always having at least two, and sometimes three live ones, living next to the skeleton of Fudge in the end cell.

There was still the skeleton, there was another auror close to death, there was one taken several months before, still relatively healthy, and the new one, taken ten days before. Penelope Tulloch always enjoyed telling her new pets that the cell was originally intended for the young man who would mature to be the great wizard, and pointing out the fate of the one who'd organised it. 'Serve him right,' she'd say. 'Poetic justice.'

Pleas that the aurors didn't deserve such a fate were ignored. 'You're my pets,' she'd say. And they had pet names - Ginger was the man close to death, Scarface was the second man, and Bruce had not long been christened Muggins, his furious irritation at that name temporarily blunting the knowledge that he would probably spend the rest of his life in a small cage. Penelope and Kerrie, the Tulloch girls, had started training Muggins, punishing him with fairly mild burn spells whenever he irritated them, not so much by talking too much, but by using words they didn't understand. Stan, otherwise known as Scarface, pointed out to Bruce that it didn't only annoy the Tullochs, it had always annoyed him, too.

But now Stan was being very quiet as Bruce concentrated. Unlike those before him, Bruce knew the great wizard. It had only been for a few weeks, years before, and most of that time, Bellamy had been living in a daze. But what else was there to do? No entertainment was provided, and the aurors all knew that once upon a time, they could call the great wizard, and if he knew them well enough, he might hear, and he would come to their help. They had only to look to the end cell to know their eventual fate if help didn't come.

Stan had not the slightest optimism that the great wizard might come to their rescue, and Bruce himself didn't believe his own boast that he had superlative brainpower, and could undoubtedly make himself heard even if he was on the far side of the world. But Stan happened to be looking in the exact spot where Bellamy silently appeared, and jumped to his feet with a yell.

Bellamy flicked his eyes around the room, lingering on the huddled figure of the one nearly dead, and noting the skeleton. "Hello Bruce," he said, and nodded to the other.

There were doors suddenly wide open in four cells, and Bellamy went to the man who lay still. Stan was shaking his head. "I must be hallucinating. And anyhow, there's an anti-apparation spell on this house, _and _it's hidden."

Bellamy said casually, "I've seldom taken too much notice of anti-apparation spells, and I've removed it now anyway. Likewise the enchantments that hide the place."

Bruce still sat on the floor, staring at the one who'd come to their rescue. Aurors were supposed to be tough, but it had been very hard to be 'Muggins.' There was an hysteria trying to come out. Bellamy's matter-of-fact voice prevented it. "Look's like your gaolers might have helped you lose weight. You might just scrape through your fitness tests one more time."

Bruce gave a shaky smile, and finally scrambled to his feet.

Bellamy felt his emotion. It had been a bitter blow to the pride of an auror to be taken prisoner, and kept helpless. "Do you want to arrest your gaolers yourself, or will I bring reinforcements."

Stan glanced at Bruce, and his grin was fierce. "Ourselves, eh, Muggins? But we'll need wands."

"What about this man," asked Bellamy. The emaciated man was very weak, but had roused at Bellamy's touch, and looked at his rescuer with a dawning hope.

Bruce was suddenly decisive. "Lock the door for us so we're not surprised unarmed, take Evan to the Ministry, grab an experienced auror, ask for two spare wands, and come back to us here. Can you do all that?"

Bellamy nodded, and glanced at the door. "Locked for a half hour, or until I unlock it." He smiled. Bruce would be all right, he'd already taken charge.

Gently, Bellamy gathered Evan up in his arms. He caused a considerable stir, when he apparated into the atrium of the Ministry, and lowered Evan to the ground. A clerk stared. Bellamy looked up. "We need a healer for Evan, an experienced auror, and two spare wands, straightaway please."

It didn't take long. Bellamy smiled at Dieter. "Hello, Franz."

Dieter nodded cautiously. Bellamy said, "You'll have to come as a passenger, I'm afraid, as I can't tell you where it is."

Dieter took a breath, and nodded, holding spare wands in his hand. This was the man whom he'd never known except confused, and now he had to trust him implicitly.

But a little later, Dieter acted as a backup while Bruce and Stan efficiently arrested the two young women who'd called them their 'pets,' and then their middle-aged parents. Bellamy, meantime, in his casual medj clothing, leaned his back to the wall, and watched. And then, casually, he stood, stretched, and yawned. "Well, I might be off now, Franz. I'll catch up with you in a few months."

Dieter said in a pleading tone, "_Please_ call me Dieter."

Bellamy's smile was a touch mocking. "Sorry. _Dieter._" In his customary silence, he was gone, although Dieter, Stan and Bruce, with their prisoners, made the usual loud crack in the air when they disapparated.

One of the first things that Dieter did once the prisoners were secured, was to hurry to Graham. Word had already spread that the great wizard had been seen, rescued three aurors, and vanished again. So Graham knew what Dieter was talking about when, the moment he came close enough, he said, "He's still wearing the sensor."

Graham opened a monitor, and said calmly, "No reading, he's probably gone out of range again."

Dieter shrugged, "Keep a watch, anyway, will you? He might be in one of his hidden places."

Graham nodded, and put the monitor on his desk, to the intense curiosity of Stan, waiting to be checked. Stan was hoping for a few weeks leave. It takes a little while to recover from a captivity, even though they had not otherwise been seriously mistreated.

Graham was planning on giving Bruce, too, a few weeks leave, although he appeared in perfect command of himself. It was a good idea allowing Bruce and Stan to do the arrests. Evan, or 'Ginger,' was in St. Mungo's.

***chapter end***


	38. Chapter 38

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 7_

It had been midnight when Bellamy had been woken from his dreams by a continual mental voice that seemed to have been calling him for hours, if not days. But it was only mid-afternoon in England.

He arrived in the apparation zone of his home. He looked all around with his eyes, and with his mind, and was surprised to find it quite deserted. He hoped the place still belonged to him. He'd been away a very long time. The grass was rank and overgrown, and there were only two ponies and three old mares in the Old Horses' Paddock, and no other horses.

He talked to them a little while, and then leaned against a fence looking at a mob of sheep grazing in a paddock. Bellamy had never had sheep, only a few sometimes, to help teach defence spells. In the little cemetery were new names. Naomi and Beau had both now died. He touched the stones, with affection and regret. But it was no longer a pain too hard to bear, when people he knew, died.

He yawned again. To him, it was still the middle of the night.

His home was quiet, as he'd seldom seen it. There had always been people around, but now it was still. The office reassured him. Several items of mail lay on the table, and the name on them was his. He didn't even know who was looking after his paperwork any more, since Naomi died, but it appeared that someone was. The furniture was covered with drapes, and the swimming pool was empty. Bellamy made his bed, and got into it, but felt his loneliness. He put it away from him. He would always be lonely. When a man is unique in his world, he cannot expect not to be lonely.

He was wide awake again at midnight, and very hungry. Now he was home, he was reluctant to go out, but there was no food at all in the kitchen, except for an old can of beetroot, which, opened, looked distinctly odd. Bellamy wrinkled his nose, and vanished it. In the end he found a nearly full biscuit tin in the secretary's office, and breakfasted on biscuits. It was a dark, wet night, and although once he might have gone outside anyway, now he went back inside and resumed his explorations of his home.

In the store-room, he found the many boxes of books he'd sent home, and started on a project. One of his books for each of his 'grandchildren.' He needed a list. His descendants numbered several hundreds now, as generations had lived and died. His secretary would have to have a list, as, whether he was home or not, it was automatic that each birth and each wedding was marked by a gift from him.

Meantime, he methodically opened boxes, sitting on the floor, and unhurriedly made each book wrap itself in conjured paper, and sit itself down in the appropriate labelled pile. If there was more than one child in a family, they should have different books.

The job was done. He left a set unwrapped, and just stacked, in case his unknown secretary would like to have a look. And a couple of sets had to go in his library. But in his library, he found that book he'd written in Sweden and had almost forgotten, and spent the rest of the night and a portion of the morning, re-reading it. He impressed himself, and wondered why it had seemed to do him so little long-term good. But maybe it had. Once away from the aurors, he'd never once become so much confused again.

Finishing, he put that book away in the secret portion of his library, along with another book that he'd written a long time ago. And that one, too, appeared to have blank pages.

Helping himself to a few more of his secretary's biscuits, he went outside, to stop in surprise. The very large covered building that was the Quidditch pitch had always doubled as a place for Beau and Simon to take their horses, and to practise their jumping. It was a long way from the house, but he could see a lot of activity.

Prudently, he put a 'Don't Notice Me' charm on himself before walking over to see what was going on. Cars, horse boxes, flags, and children on horses. There was even a small roundabout being erected by a man wearing an orange vest, with the words of a service club on it. But when Bellamy saw a food van entering the grounds, he hurried back to the house for some appropriate currency. He was very hungry.

Lots of children on horses. A local gymkhana, it seemed. Bellamy was pleased that his home was being used, but it would not be prudent for the locals to look thoroughly at him, when some would have known that he was too old to be looking the same as he always had. He kept his Cloaking Magic. There were changes, a new gate let into the high fence, an area gravelled for a carpark, and even a new toilet building.

Bellamy was the first and definitely the hungriest customer for the food van, but finally eating his hamburger, he strolled around watching the frantic activity as men and women prepared for their annual Pony Club gymkhana. He frowned when he entered the indoor arena. Several of his own conjured chairs were still there, and even his own conjures didn't last forever. Quietly, as inconspicuously as he could, he vanished the old conjures, replacing them with new. Chairs vanishing under people was not good policy, besides causing bruises, and he thought there were less than there had been, so maybe some had already gone.

An old man in the corner watched incredulously as a chair vanished as he watched, and was quickly replaced. And now that his attention had been drawn, there was the man he'd known, wearing long hair in a pony tail. And Connor smiled. Harry looked so like he always had, jeans, which always seemed to be faded, and a shirt that was the brightest he could buy, or sometimes conjure.

Bellamy felt his attention, and greeted him with pleasure.

"You've been away a long time," Connor said.

Bellamy agreed, and waved his hand at the activity, smiling, "A gymkhana?"

"My daughter runs it." He pointed to where a bossy woman strode around directing jumps to be re-spaced.

"They're only children," she declared loudly. "We want as few accidents as possible."

Connor and Bellamy sat in a couple of chairs, talking, until Connor's daughter sent them out, saying that all the chairs had to be rearranged.

"Do you have any jobs to do here?" asked Bellamy, "Because if not, we'll go to the house." But even that was not accomplished without incident, as they were suddenly roared at, and told to keep within bounds - no-one was allowed past the fence, and certainly not near the house. Bellamy blinked, while Connor gave a rueful grin. "We'll try again in a few minutes," said Bellamy. And the next time they tried, they were both under the cover of Cloaking Magic.

"Is Adrian well?" Connor asked, but Bellamy had to admit he was quite out of touch. Connor looked around. They'd had to remove dust covers from the chairs in order to sit down. Everything was clean enough, though, and the house was warm and well lit. Connor suddenly asked, shrewdly, "Does anyone actually know you're back?"

Bellamy grinned sheepishly. "I don't even know who's working for me these days, though, as far as I can tell, I still seem to have a secretary - they like teddy bear biscuits. It's all I can find to eat in the house."

Connor laughed, and asked how long he was planning on staying.

"Only a few days," said Bellamy. "I'll see who turns up to do the paperwork, and organise further with that person."

Connor was looking at him with some amusement. "Do you know how to do grocery shopping?"

Bellamy grinned ruefully, "Buy a loaf of bread, and have a slice whenever you're hungry?"

The result of the conversation was that Connor and Bellamy found what they assumed had to be Bellamy's car, since it was in his garage, and, as Bellamy didn't drive, Connor drove him to a supermarket, in order to buy several ready-prepared meals suitable for storage, some basic provisions, and a tin of biscuits to replace those Bellamy had been eating.

Graham had taken his monitor home with him for the weekend, but Bellamy's home was still just a touch too far for there to be readings, although he was sure there had been a couple of flickers. But what he thought he saw for a brief second was obviously wrong.

Connor rather regretfully left to rejoin the noisy activities of the gymkhana on their return while Bellamy did some further exploring.

The extensive gardens were not as well maintained as they'd been in the past, he noted, and he assumed there was probably no-one regularly gardening, though they were not totally neglected. His face lit up when he saw the house that had been occupied by Caradoc and Clare. It showed all the signs of recent occupancy, including an easel carelessly left outside. And when he thought about it, he could feel that they were alive. With the exception of those years of confusion, he'd been able to do that for a long time.

Beau had died, but his house was also still looking as if occupied, presumably by Sybil. Bellamy had a smile all over his face. Three of his old friends were still close, and he would no doubt see them soon.

Through the day, Bellamy had two more large hamburgers from the food van, two ice-creams, and some fairy floss, and watched in pleasure the thrilled children collecting their ribbons. Others became cross and tired. They always did. Connor went home, as he was no longer young, and tired easily.

At last the crowd went, leaving litter, and the signs of crushed and trampled grass. He overheard Connor's daughter say briskly, "Right, working bee first thing in the morning to finish tidying up," and she named a dozen names. The silent groans from those named were almost as audible to Bellamy as the loud voice. Bellamy glanced around after the weary workers left, and still wandered, effortlessly vanishing rubbish as he did. The workers in the morning would have less to do than they expected.

He still didn't want to go out, and started thinking about Keifer, which really meant thinking about Pat. He never even wondered why he so much wanted to get her into bed. For sex, he'd always looked to Medj, as he was just too well known among wizardry. And he'd always looked for older women, not the young ones that might be looking for commitment. She fitted the pattern laid down by habit.

Sunday, Bellamy still wandered aimlessly around his home, beginning to be restless, but not quite knowing what he wanted to do.

Monday morning, as he reached into the pantry for one of the prepared meals, he was startled by a ringing scream. He spun around, but nearly knocked himself out hitting his head on a shelf, and was only just in time to see someone disappearing out the door, still screaming.

Archie entered warily fifteen minutes later, wand by his side, looking for the intruder. A broad smile dawned, and he pocketed his wand. "Boss!" he said.

Bellamy rose from the table, and went to him, hugging him hard. He had seldom been so demonstrative in the old days, but his time with the Italians had left a legacy.

It seemed that Archie still mostly managed his affairs, although two young women had been hired as secretary, and as cook/housekeeper, seeing that Josie was now married with small children. Prudently, Beth had made the journey, and had given the nod to the new employees, before they were hired. It was thought that the reward for the death of Bellamy might have lapsed, but the great wizard would always have enemies.

After a while, two young women entered cautiously, wands drawn, and Archie introduced them to their boss. Alison Kristos was his new secretary, and Kitty Stackpole was housekeeper, and would be cook when Bellamy returned.

The unasked question was answered casually. "Probably in a few months, I'll come back." Bellamy said. "I have a little business to attend to before I come back for good." He'd just said it, but he still didn't know himself what his business might be, and thought it was just an excuse. He wasn't ready to return.

Kitty asked, "Have you seen today's Daily Prophet?"

Bellamy shook his head. "It's been a long time since I've seen any wizarding newspaper."

"It's got all about you rescuing those aurors, and how the prison was originally intended for you."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows.

"Many, many years ago," she continued. "And the skeleton was an old Minister for Magic who ordered it."

Bellamy had his eyes narrowed now. "Did you get his name?"

Kitty shook her head. "I've forgotten."

"John Daunt, Percy Weasley, Cornelius Fudge. Was it any of those?"

"The third one, I think," said Kitty, rather uncertainly.

Alison said softly, "Three Ministers have tried to lock you up?"

Bellamy shrugged. "These things happen." And then he said, "I'm afraid I ate all your biscuits, but I did buy some more to replace them. I'm just not quite sure where I put them."

Alison said, "I wouldn't have screamed if I'd known you were back."

Bellamy grinned. "You came closer to taking me out than anyone's come, just about. You gave me such a fright that I clouted my head and saw stars."

Archie was watching, smiling to himself. Bellamy was back, fully alert, and turning two new employees into loyal supporters.

Kitty asked, "Do you want me to come cook for you now?"

"No need, I'll probably leave tomorrow or the next day," and he grinned. "I'm colossally well organised, Connor Maguire helped me buy ready to eat meals."

Kitty rose, and went to check what was in the kitchen. Five minutes later, she returned. "I'm staying to cook," she said firmly.

Alison added, "And there's things I need to go over with you. So you'll need to join me in the office." The pattern was set again - devoted employees who respected their boss profoundly - and told him what to do.

Archie's family no longer lived on Bellamy's property, as its hidden status meant that it could be quite lonely, and without the presence of the boss, it seemed a bit pointless. He made a phone call, and then wandered around, inspecting the place. There was a little work to be done before the boss came back. And he reckoned they'd move back in, too. Looking after the boss was the family business, after all.

When Paul rode in an hour later, leading a second horse, he looked around for Bellamy, then quietly tethered the horses, and rang the bell of the secondary entry, that led to the staff dining room, and the staff offices.

He found Bellamy sitting on the floor, a list in hand, addressing packages. After a greeting which reassured him that Bellamy did know and care about him, he said, quite casually, "Your new horse is outside, waiting for your approval."

Bellamy looked up in surprise. "I thought the horses were all gone."

Paul smiled. "Come and see. His name's Jester. But there are others to choose from if you don't like him."

When Clare drove her large car in, with Caradoc and Sybil as passengers, it was to the sight of the boss in jeans and bright, bright, red-orange shirt, putting on a buckjumping show on an oddly marked skewbald horse, all in great good temper, and with a vivid aliveness in his face that they hadn't seen for decades. The three had been in London, where a big gallery was staging an exhibition of Clare's paintings. The prize piece was an enormous portrait of the dog, Dobes, now dead.

Paul and Bellamy rode over to see Paul's parents for a little while then, still alive, though Bridon was over ninety, and still living on the stud farm next door. He met Helena, Paul's wife, too, and held their baby, gently touching its cheek with that air of wonderment with which he always greeted new babies. He didn't stay long, because he wanted to talk to Caradoc, Clare and Sybil. He'd be back for good in a few months, he said.

"Tell us, next time," Paul said severely, "You won't have to steal the secretary's biscuits if we know you're coming!"

Bellamy smiled, "I'll try. Archie was going crook, too. And my new secretary nearly knocked me out because she thought I was an intruder!"

Bellamy went back to his job addressing parcels later that afternoon, after an excellent lunch provided by Kitty. Alison had offered, thinking it should be the secretary's job, but Bellamy said that he wanted to do it himself. It was giving him a chance to quietly catch up with the ramifications of his own family, too. There were so many of them these days, and many of the ones now having babies, hadn't even been born when he'd started his years of wandering.

He came to a couple of names, and looked up at Kitty, who was already itching to tidy the lounge-room in which he worked. "I've got descendants who are Finch-Fletchleys?"

Kitty giggled. "Piers Finch-Fletchley married Desiree Abercrombie, and you should have seen him preen himself! He was always a pompous twit, and now he's married into the family of the great wizard, he's worse!"

Bellamy was laughing. "It's ironic! Did you know I was 'the Monster,' for a while? People would gather in groups and hiss at me!"

"Well, now the Finch-Fletchleys are throwing an exclusive party for the descendants of Bellamy. And if you cannot prove you're a descendant, you just don't get invited!" She added, "It's Saturday, if you want to go."

Bellamy shook his head. "I can't, I'm not a descendant."

"It'll be a good chance to catch up with your family," she said persuasively. "From what I hear, there'll be a lot there."

Bellamy was thinking about it, commenting, "The Finch-Fletchleys have always thrown a good party, even if they are such arrant snobs."

Kitty said, wheedling, "I want to be there. There's someone I want to know better, and he'll be there. If you go, I could go as your partner!"

But she'd still had no answer when Alison approached with a letter, which she handed to Bellamy. "I know you said just to reply that you've gone away again, but you really should see this one."

Bellamy scanned it, and said, resigned, "I suppose I'll have to. Tell them I'll do it tomorrow - but only those two, with the addition of any children needing me. Otherwise, they'll have to wait until I come back."

So Tuesday, Bellamy was back in the Ministry, and cured two pumpkin-heads, and eight children. And when Dieter greeted him, he was given his correct name.

Nathan Bagster, head of the Department of Public Relations, sat with the observers, and saw his own nine year old son cured. He jumped, though, when the great wizard looked straight through the barrier that was almost opaque from his side, and met his eyes. Nathan, Bellamy had been told, was running for the position of Minister for Magic, now that Laurie was resigning.

Graham knew now. Bellamy had firmly declined his request to check him over, which would have given him a lot more information. But he had his monitor, and it appeared that Bellamy was actually better than he'd ever been. The LV was always roughly translated as 'Life Vigour,' but trainee healers were always told it was a lot more than that, but that it was too difficult to explain or to understand exactly what was being measured. Whatever it was, the LV measure now measured 316, when his previous normal was 294.

Bellamy sat on Graham's desk, afterward, as Graham completed his notes. He glanced at Alexander close, and Alexander moved back, out of earshot.

"You know what you told me in the spa that time – to just try to relearn to live in the present for a time - it helped me a lot. I wanted to thank you."

Graham grinned to himself. It was perfectly obvious that something had helped, with a 22 point increase in LV.

Bellamy stared at him, _"Shit!" _he said, and glanced at his watches. The monitor went blank.

Bellamy was looking resentful, but Graham said accusingly. "I thought you never read minds without a very good reason."

Bellamy was taken off balance at this charge, reddening, "Sometimes a thought's so loud, I can't help it," and remembering his grievance, "And anyway, you've been spying on me!"

Graham grinned at him. "I'll buy you a beer."

"I think I need two!"

Graham nodded, "Two beers, and you'll forgive me?"

Bellamy said, grudgingly, "I guess, and anyway, I suppose Dieter put you up to it."

"They never tracked you down anyway, as apparently you gave away the long range location device."

Bellamy glanced at his right wrist. "There was a woman."

Graham said mockingly, "There always is, isn't there?" And wondered what there was in that to make Bellamy look suddenly sad. There was always a woman, but only when he was married was he truly happy.

There was a gathering afterward, and Bellamy circulated, enjoying the excellent morning tea provided, and talking to the influential men and women who ran the world of wizardry. He had his fingers crossed that they didn't know much about incidents that had occurred in his years of wandering. He wasn't going to ask, and he had to face them of course, no matter what they knew or had seen. This was his world, and even if he'd made a fool of himself, he just had to live it down. At least his first reappearance had been a rescue of aurors. That helped a bit.

He talked to Nathan for a while, during which time he mentioned that he really didn't think that Nathan should run for the position of Minister. Nathan was silent for a moment, and then said, "You knew all along, didn't you?"

Bellamy shrugged, "Pretty much."

Nathan suddenly grinned at him, "It was the best decision I ever made, refraining from killing you. I have a good life now, and I will pull out of the running, if that's what you want." And then they started talking about what had happened to Nathan's son - a revenge attack to punish Nathan for not using his power to someone else's advantage. And then, with great amusement, Nathan started telling Bellamy about the recent career of Spectra McFiddan. "Apparently she's great in bed, and has seduced rather a lot of the aurors, and is now the frequent partner of Theodore Laurie!"

"Surely she should have faced criminal charges when she showed her face! After all, I scarcely punished her!"

Nathan shook his head. "You don't get charged with anything if you go to bed with the one who was thinking about it!"

Bellamy made another objection. "She must be pretty old, surely!"

Nathan shook his head again, "It looks like she's going to be one of those witches who live a very long time - like your Beth. And she's still incredibly beautiful. Oh, and she's claiming to be related to you now, too."

Bellamy was grinning with some enjoyment. "I wonder if she'll be at the Finch-Fletchleys' party on Saturday. It might be amusing to see her in action."

Nathan grinned too. "She's extremely good, and I'm pretty sure it's not magic. She even announced that, in her penitence, she'd make it up to all those aurors whom she turned into pumpkin-heads, and three of them took her up on it."

Bellamy regarded him, disbelievingly. "That's surely not possible. When someone did it to me once, I was so sick with fury, that I came very close to burning him to death!"

Nathan looked at him with surprise. "I hadn't heard that story. Who rescued you?"

"I pulled myself out. It was only a few minutes, and I still shook for days and had nightmares about it for months!" He shook his head. "I couldn't imagine even the possibility of forgiving the one who did it!"

Nathan was regarding him with interest, "Yet you didn't punish Spectra?"

Bellamy was shame-faced. "She was a woman - and family."

Nathan asked curiously, "How exactly is she related? Spectra's very vague about it."

"I don't know, but I can feel it."

"Something scandalous then, I take it?" said Nathan, needling.

Bellamy blushed, "Probably."

Kitty was tickled pink when Bellamy said she could be his escort, but also said that no-one should be told that he was coming, including the Finch-Fletchleys. He'd always liked to keep his movements quiet - it was safer that way. And he doubted that he'd be denied entry.

He became increasingly restless over the next few days, in spite of the way that his staff tried to coddle him, in spite of his new horse, and in spite of the company of his old friends, especially Caradoc. But when Caradoc saw him standing stock still and staring into the distance, even Bellamy wouldn't have been able to say what he wanted. But he'd promised Kitty that he'd go with her to the party, so he had to hang around.

Even when he'd done the spell-breaking at the Ministry, Bellamy had worn jeans and shirt, though he did at least, remember to use a wand. But for the party, he pulled out a set of dress robes, and thought that Julie would probably condemn them as old fashioned now. He wore his hair loose, too, as Julie had always said he had to, because he looked more like a wizard that way. If he wasn't recognised, he might be denied entry without an invitation. Kitty rearranged his collars and patted his hair in almost a maternal way, to his amusement. The name of Sidney Bourne crept into her conversation every few sentences, so he didn't think it was because she fancied him.

Kitty had refrained from telling anyone that Bellamy would be going to the party, but his own casual words to Nathan ensured that each of the six aurors who could claim to be a descendant, would also attend the party, although not in uniform.

As anticipated, the Finch-Fletchleys almost fell over themselves in glee when the great wizard, himself, turned up. At first, when Bellamy met Desiree Abercrombie, he thought merely that she was so many generations removed, that he could no longer detect that feeling of family. But after he met several others, an equal number of generations removed, he looked back at her in some amusement. Piers was so pleased with himself, and hadn't even wound up with a true descendant. There'd been some hanky-panky somewhere along the line. He didn't say anything - old scandals are best forgotten.

Bellamy had already been told that Spectra McFiddan hadn't been invited, as she could not prove the relationship, but he wasn't surprised when he noticed her there anyway. Totally unfazed by her history, she crossed straight to him, and radiated an aura of sexual attraction as she greeted him. Bellamy frankly grinned at her. "Not me, my girl!"

She laughed, and they entertained each other very well for the next half hour. He finally asked her from where the relationship had come. Perfectly calmly, she said, "A prostitute, I think, called Justine."

Bellamy blinked, "Your mother?"

She smiled at him, amused, "My father's mother."

Bellamy was feeling uncomfortable. "I never thought a prostitute would have an illegitimate child."

Spectra said calmly, "She was dead by the time I started making enquiries, but I think it had to have been you."

Bellamy was blushing, to her amusement. "I guess it had to have been," and he admitted, "There was one called Justine, once."

Two aurors watched closely, not far out of earshot. But they were female aurors, as none of the males would admit that Spectra might have another try at killing Bellamy. Katrina and Therese relaxed though, as Bellamy and Spectra separated. For a moment, they thought that Spectra would have Bellamy in bed. Bellamy, too, knew that Spectra had taken aim, and was shocked at her. Most of his descendants were many generations removed, but Spectra was only his grand-daughter!

He enjoyed himself for a couple of hours before he became restless. Kitty was in a corner with Sidney Bourne, so he assumed her plans were going well. When he approached, Sidney jumped to his feet respectfully, but Kitty just waved him away, saying that he could go if he wanted, but that she was staying a while.

Bellamy was in the deepest of dark crimson velvet dress robes, the long dress skirt, with some elaborate fancy work on the bodice, and the embroidered, deep collared cape that was worn over it, and billowed around him as he walked. It was a style of dress totally unsuited to going among Medjkind. He could have changed, using conjured clothing instead. But when he left the party, he left the unusual clothing on, and started walking the streets of London. He was feeling more and more restlessly unhappy, and it had nothing to do with his old pain and his old griefs. He wanted to go to bed with a woman, as it had been over a week. But he didn't want anyone but Pat. And Pat kept refusing him.

For a while he walked, and then he went into a pub, and sat at a table, brooding over a beer, ignoring the jibes and pointing fingers. Finally, his shoulder was roughly pulled back so that he looked up. "Going to a fancy dress party, are we?" said the jeering voice.

Bellamy's answering grin was frankly wolfish. The tough recoiled, muttered something about just a joke, and left the pub. Bellamy's disappointment was considerable. He knew now what he wanted, and he'd accidentally frightened away the one who might have obliged him. But still, he was too good now. One was no competition.

Bellamy drained his beer and went walking. He knew the streets of London well, but it had been a long time. Some rough areas were gentrified, others had become more run down. He ignored a couple of individuals who laughed at his appearance. He reckoned he needed a minimum of two, unless he handicapped himself by not using one hand, for instance. He'd forgotten that long and fancy robes might also be a handicap - even his sleeves dangled into deeply embroidered cuffs.

It took a while, but eventually he was surrounded by a group of four young men. It was in a quiet and dark park in the heart of London, notorious for muggings. It was a part of Bellamy's odd rules for himself that he would not hit first. And for a while, they just paced around him, remarking on his pretty dresses. Bellamy tried not to frighten them away, but a fierce grin kept flashing in spite of himself. He remembered to put a charm on their boots. His fighting was not in any way magical, and he could be defeated. But now, if he went down, he would not be kicked, or not for long. Those boots would vanish if used to kick anything alive.

"You take him, Jacky," said one. Three fell back, and Jacky came forward. Bellamy was still bent on not scaring them away, and allowed Jacky to connect, a glancing blow to the side. It would scarcely bruise. Jacky was becoming frustrated, confused by the billowing robes that turned out to be just empty cloth when he tried to hit.

He stepped back, panting, and Bellamy straightened. A muttered word from behind, and suddenly he was being held by two strong youths, who laughed. "Try him now, Jacky!" Jacky, still panting, came closer, his fist balled. When he threw the punch, though, a quick and strong move meant that it was his mate who cried out and dropped his hold, sinking dizzily to the ground.

There was a mutter of consternation. The small gang were beginning to realise they'd taken on a bit more than they'd expected. Nick was the only one who had a knife, but the mind image came to Bellamy loud and clear, and he whirled, suddenly throwing himself into action. The knife was kicked from the man's hand, but now three others were on him, and he was finding it difficult to free himself, entangled in his own voluminous robes. And now he really took some punishment as the four men thumped into him. He twisted and fought, trying to get to his feet again.

It was looking very much as if he was going to be defeated for a change, when police whistles sounded, and the men fled. Rather slowly, Bellamy got to his feet, and shrugged himself back into his wet and muddy clothing.

The policemen watched, smiling. "Asking for it, weren't you?"

Bellamy flashed a sudden grin. "Yeah, I was asking for it."

"This is a bad place to walk alone, we'll give you a lift out of here."

Bellamy firmly declined, and when they persisted, he said, perfectly casually, that he'd been just _about _to beat the pants off them, he just hadn't got around to it yet. They laughed at his boast, but left him alone.

The wind had risen, and Bellamy was still restless. Instead of any sort of prudent action, he used his magic to clean and dry himself and his muddy clothing, and to mend a tear in his cape. And then he walked along the banks of the Thames, as the wind blew stronger.

When the same policemen came across him an hour later, he was just standing, looking into the wind, as his robes billowed around him. There was an aura of power about him, and one of the policeman said to the other, "He's a bit frightening, like maybe he's Merlin, or something!" The other stared, then shook his head. "Nah, just a very stupid man who shouldn't be let out by himself." But neither showed any inclination to approach, and their conversation on the radio to another patrol car drew the attention of the witch who always monitored police radio. Wizardry had to be kept out of the notice of Medjkind, and discretion was enforced with penalties. The result was a Ministry official seeing Bellamy as he still walked, lonely, along the backs of the Thames. The timid man recognised the great wizard, and didn't approach. By the time his report was followed up, the two aurors found him gone.

When Archie went to see Bellamy Sunday, he found only a short note left on Alison's desk. _'Back in a few months, I'll try and give you warning before I come back next time.'_ Archie shook his head - no forwarding address, of course.

A few days later, Alison found that her boss had been summoned to a disciplinary hearing, for appearing in blatant wizard dress, out of a wizarding area. There had been a lot of anxious discussion whether he should be summoned, but anyone else would have been, and it was finally decided that they had no choice. Alison had to say that he was gone, no-one knew where. In his absence, he was found guilty, and Alison, on Archie's instructions, paid the fine he'd incurred, as she paid all his other accounts.

***chapter end***


	39. Chapter 39

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 8_

Bellamy had been away little more than a week, but Pat had missed him. When he waited for her after work, leaning against her car, with a badly bruised face, she forgot her prudence, and that night, they became lovers. It was as Pat had always somehow known. There was a very strong sexuality within her nature, and she knew that she would never be happy again, if she had to live without sex. And yet, for the moment, she was deliriously happy, and didn't regret her decision. At the same time, she kept her heart under a very strict guard. She knew so little about him, and never expected a long term relationship. If he'd tell her about his past, about his roots, where he came from, then it would be different. But he always shielded such questions, or came up with vague answers that meant nothing.

A month after, they lay together in bed, and Bellamy caressed breasts, and told her how beautiful she was. Pat smiled and lay relaxed. He was sincere, and she knew it. But that day, she'd overheard laughter about 'Lankylegs' having a lover, and how it couldn't possibly last long.

Bellamy was ecstatically happy, unthinking, living and loving in the present. She instructed him to turn on his front, and began a gentle, loving massage. And she talked as she worked, saying that no matter when he left, it had been worth it. That even a temporary love affair was better than none ever, in her life.

With the force of a blinding revelation, Bellamy finally, _finally_, realised that he didn't want to ever leave this woman, who matched him so well. He turned to her, holding her very tight, and muttered, "I don't want it ever to end."

She stared at him in utter astonishment. Bellamy looked away from her, but there were tears beginning to trace down his face, and she reached forward, and touched, unbelieving. Pat may have guarded her heart, but Bellamy hadn't realised that his own needed a guard. And that night, as Pat lay asleep in his arms, he stayed awake a long time, and thought.

He had thought never to marry again. Julie had been made miserable because she became old and he didn't. But Pat was a very different woman. She had no friends, though a few friendly acquaintances, and he knew that she was jeered at sometimes because of her appearance. She had no expectations of permanence in this relationship, and he knew that she was amused when he claimed that she was beautiful. Maybe it would not be a wickedness to ask her to marry him, but she had to know what he was, everything that he was, so that she could refuse if she thought it too difficult.

The following morning, he began his campaign. "I've never said much about my past."

Pat looked at him curiously. "No, you haven't."

Totally honest, Bellamy said, "I want you to be my wife, but you probably won't want me when I tell you a bit more about myself."

Astonished she asked, "You're proposing?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Unless you tell me to go away earlier, I'll propose when you know everything you need to know."

Pat said cautiously, "I hadn't considered marriage."

Anxiously, Bellamy asked, "Is it out of the question?"

Pat smiled slightly. "It's not out of the question," and suddenly, just as anxious, "You're not mocking me, are you?"

Bellamy pulled her very tight, and breathed, "Never!"

He started by telling her that he'd been ill for years, often not knowing who he was. She gave him a hug, and said, "You're all right now, though?"

Bellamy nodded, "I'm all right now, and it's not going to happen again."

She smiled at him with confidence, "Well, then?"

"There's other things," Bellamy said, "I'll tell you tomorrow, but remember, if you want me gone, tell me."

The following day, he told her that magic existed, and that he was of the world of wizardry, technically Anirage. He had to demonstrate before she believed him, and then she told him not to tell her anything more for a while.

After a week, she took a deep breath, and asked for the next revelation. Bellamy was cowardly, and told her only that he was very rich, and had an estate in England, staff and all.

She laughed at him, "You think that might put me off?"

"I asked Alison when I was there, and she said that I could afford a helicopter or a little aeroplane, whichever you prefer. You could do your research in London library if you want, or we'll live here if you want, whatever you want."

Pat said, "You're putting off things, aren't you?"

Bellamy said, "Tomorrow. I'll tell you more tomorrow." He told her a little more about his estate, though, and she knew how very much he cared for his home. She thought that if anything came of this odd relationship, she would join him there. She had no ties herself, except for a few work colleagues, and her brother.

The following day, he told her that not only was he a wizard, but that he was the great wizard, could do things no-one else could do, and had some telepathy as well, though he very hastily said that he never normally used it. They were in bed, and she gently caressed his forehead, as he looked at her anxiously.

Patricia was wondering whether he was quite sane. He'd demonstrated that magic existed, but the conceited claim that he was the most powerful wizard in the world sounded like a delusion. Cautiously, she asked, "What can you do that no-one else can do?"

"No-one can break my spells, but I can break anyone else's spells, I can apparate anywhere in the world instead of just a few hundred miles," and he paused.

"What else?" she asked.

"I can work strong, directed magic without a wand, and nobody else can." And then hastily, rushing his fences, "Everyone in the wizarding world knows who I am, and almost all my life, people have been trying to kill me or take me prisoner."

She was frowning at him, and gently caressed a scar down his cheek. "You have a lot of scars."

Bellamy smiled slightly, "That was just when I fell off a horse, but other scars are from knife wounds and bullet wounds, and the one on my forehead is from a Death Curse."

She touched the zigzag scar. "A Death Curse?"

"It's a long story," he said evasively.

He had to tell her that he was very old, and he kept putting it off. He knew she had her reservations, and even doubted his sanity.

But after a few days, he found her examining his passport. "It says you're twenty-three, but sometimes you seem so much older."

Bellamy looked at the carpet. He was having a great deal of difficulty saying anything at all.

Pat persisted. "Are you older than twenty-three?"

Bellamy nodded. This was where he'd lose her, he knew it. "I've been married before," he started. "Each of my marriages was very happy."

"_Each_ of your marriages?" queried Pat.

Bellamy looked down, and traced a pattern in the arm of the chair where he sat. "There was Ginny, but then she died. I was with her fifteen years. I had even less time with Luna, and she died, too." He took a deep breath. "I was very happy with Julie, too, for a long time. But Julie became miserable when she started to look middle-aged and I didn't. She left me, and married someone her own age, and was a lot happier afterward. She's dead now, too."

Pat knew now. He may have been a wizard, but there was nothing to stop a wizard being insane. But she asked, gently, "How old are you now?"

Bellamy wouldn't look at her. He was acting like a naughty child caught in mischief, and Pat repeated her question. "How old are you now?"

He muttered finally, "Old."

Pat stopped questioning him, and there was a desperate quality in his love-making that night. He was losing her, and he knew he was losing her. Neither of them said anything more about wizards, or long lives, or magic.

The weather was beginning to be warm now, spring in Australia. Keifer was concerned. Pat was looking troubled, though she said that Bellamy was still with her. Pat had a week's break from her work at the University. Keifer had broken up with Shelley, and had no new woman in his life. Pat thought that, at least, Bellamy's boast about having lots of money might be true, as he agreed to the idea of a holiday on the coast without the slightest hesitation. She also knew that his books were making good sales, and so were Keifer's, with a big order recently from a bulk booksellers in England.

Pat and Keifer sunbaked on the beach. Bellamy was alight with his own pleasure as he surfed, having temporarily put out of his mind that he might be going to lose the woman he loved and wanted.

"Where did he get his surfboard?" Keifer asked casually.

Pat answered, "He conjured it this morning. I was watching. He works magic in front of me quite a lot lately. I think he wants me to get used to it."

Keifer laughed, but then looked again at his sister. She looked perfectly serious. "He's a wizard," she said, "But I don't think he's altogether rational."

Keifer looked at his sister with a real concern. She smiled at him faintly. "I'm not losing my marbles, it's true."

"Were you supposed to tell me?" he asked cautiously.

Pat shook her head. "He says Wizardkind is a very small minority, and needs to keep a low profile."

Keifer trickled some sand through his finger. "Well, either you're bonkers, or he is!"

The surfboard was pushed vertically into the sand, and Bellamy lay down beside them. "I thought I'd better see if you wanted to go back inside yet. No point getting too sunburnt."

Keifer said casually, "Pat says you're a wizard."

Bellamy glanced at Pat. "That's right," he said. "I'm trying to persuade her to marry me, but I don't think she's going to agree." And he smiled at her, very tenderly. "We could always have a never-ending affair."

Pat laughed. "Anyway, how could we get married if you're as old as you say? Your documents would all have to be falsified."

"There are wizards in Melbourne. It might be better to have a wizard wedding than an ordinary wedding."

Keifer said, "Bloody Melbourne. They always want to outdo Sydney. They've even got wizards when we haven't!"

"A worse climate, though," said Bellamy. It was like he couldn't keep his hands off her, and he gently caressed up and down her arm.

"Do you know any wizards in Melbourne?" Keifer asked, still not actually believing.

"Probably not. It's a long time since I've been there. But the pub where they congregate is probably still there. Wizards are great ones for tradition."

"I'm not convinced," said Keifer. He turned on his back. "Conjure me an ice-cream, and we'll talk about it."

Bellamy handed him an apparent ice-cream. Keifer quickly sat up. "Where did that come from?" he demanded.

"I conjured it," said Bellamy, "But I wouldn't try and eat it if I were you, I've never been able to conjure food that tastes any good."

Hesitantly, Keifer took the ice-cream, which dribbled down his hand. Almost automatically, he licked it off, before making a face. Bellamy was amused, "I told you. Do you want me to vanish it?" Dazed, Keifer nodded, and the ice-cream vanished. Keifer lay down.

"So, all right, you've proven you're a wizard. Why does Pat think you might not be rational?"

Bellamy was beginning to think he had an ally. "Pat?" he said.

"You can't be as old as you say," she said flatly. "It's not possible."

Bellamy said slowly, "There's always been a very few witches and wizards who live a long time. I knew one who lived to be a hundred and sixty, another was over a hundred and thirty, though I never really knew her, and there's supposed to be a couple in Japan, and several in the Arab countries. There's two of my own children, too. Beth will be a hundred next year, and Helmer's a bit older, but they only look middle-aged."

Pat looked at her brother, hopelessly.

Bellamy said very quietly. "As far as I know, there's never been anyone quite like me. If you were to marry me, I may very likely see you grow old and die, but we'll have a lot of good years first."

There was a long silence. Keifer said, "What've you got to lose, Sis?"

And suddenly Pat was laughing, hilariously. "What've I got to lose?"

Bellamy made a very quick trip home, and picked up several books about magic, and about his world, so that Pat could become a little more familiar with it than she was at present. He picked up a set of dress robes, too, planning to show them to Pat, although one glance had her deciding that she wanted him in ordinary clothes for the wedding. There was no-one there at the time, possibly because it was the middle of the night in England, and he left no indication that he'd been. He didn't want more demands for spell-breaking until he was ready.

Just a week later, a little pub in Melbourne was crammed with Australian witches and wizards, as Henry Bellamy married Patricia Howard. Keifer grinned all over his face. He loved his sister, and had always thought it such a tragedy that men never appreciated her. But whatever other problems there might be to come, it was perfectly obvious to him that Bellamy loved her very much. It had become clear, too, that Bellamy was as famous as he'd said. In the Merlin Bar, the walls were decorated with large posters of famous wizards. One was of Bellamy, though it was labelled Harry Potter.

Bellamy sent some wedding photos home, and to the relief of Archie and Alison, supplied an address for correspondence. But Pat insisted on working until November, the end of the academic year. She had a strong sense of duty.

They gave her a sendoff from work, an evening function, to which partners were invited. There was a young woman, secretary to Professor Gievrot, who made a pretend helpful comment to Pat, that had her stiffen in annoyance. But Bellamy noticed, and the young woman suddenly found she could no longer eat or drink without spilling things. Pat glanced at Bellamy, and then said kindly to Jacqueline, "Don't worry, my dear. Maybe when you're a bit older, you'll be able to handle a few wines with more dignity." Jacqueline left early, and Pat herself, gave a sigh of relief when it was over. There were hardly any of those there who had the remotest feeling for her.

Pat was fairly tough, and had endured minor nastinesses all her life, but she was beginning to feel she'd found a wonderful protector. Bellamy told her that she didn't need to socialise at all, ever, if she didn't want to. "Unusual people are often not popular," he said one day. "Beth was actually stoned by the other children when she started school. We educated her ourselves then, all through her primary school years. Her mother was a wonderful lady, but people thought she was strange, always, and she, too, had hardly any friends."

Pat was blushing. "It makes me feel so guilty, as if I'm not good enough."

Bellamy nodded. "Beth told me she felt like that, too, a deep guilt that even now, she's not been able to throw off."

"What about you?" Pat asked. "You're unusual."

Bellamy nodded. "Well, I've been shot at, knifed, people have tried to take me prisoner, and I've had to dodge Death Curses." And he smiled. "I am so lucky. It might have been a bit hazardous at times, but I've always had friends, and often those friends have gone to a lot of trouble to help and protect me."

As Pat wanted, they embarked on a cruise ship for their trip to England. She wanted a time of leisure, and a time, too, when she and her new husband would get to know each other better. He had a lot of history, and Pat had a fair bit to share, too. Bellamy was being very conscientious these days, and advised his home that they'd be returning on the ship, _Arabella, _and gave the date of expected arrival, March twenty-fifth.

Pat was amused when she saw how he reacted to the life of leisure. Within a week, he seemed to know a lot of the passengers, and even more of the crew. He was often to be found in the gymnasium, or tirelessly lapping the pool. There were three spa-rooms for the use of passengers, and it seemed to her that it was one of the few times he was happy to stay still, sitting in the spa, soothed by hot water. She came to realise that he was not really suited to this type of holiday. In his vigorous health and overflowing energy, he was always looking for things to do, while she was content to read or sunbake. She soon just started sending him off, knowing that he'd be happy helping the Games Coodinator, or walking slowly beside a fierce old lady with whom he'd made friends, or even rearranging the books in the library.

When he coaxed her up one morning to see the sunrise, he gave a cheery good morning to Brad, who mopped the passage way just outside their first class cabin, and mentioned to Pat that he used to do that sort of job on the _Belle Chartreusie_, until they realised how many languages he spoke. She started questioning him about that other ship he'd been on, the _Costa Rivera,_ and he admitted that his memories for the last twenty-five years were patchy, and there were years that had passed of which he seemed to have no memory at all.

"I wasn't allowed off the Crew Deck on the Costa Rivera, unless there was someone with me, because they thought I was retarded, and might upset the passengers." She pulled him closer to her then. She hadn't quite realised how long he'd been confused. "It won't happen again," he assured her, looking at her creased brow. "It was just that it was a bit hard for a while, because I didn't want to be alone, and everyone I knew, died."

"Everyone you knew, died," said Patricia, quietly.

"It took a long time, but I can accept it now, and make the most of what is, rather than fretting about what is not."

"There was a book I read once when I was a child," said Pat, musing. "I thought it was about horses, but Mum said it was about life and death."

"It's in the ship's library, if it's the one I'm thinking about," said Bellamy, and once the vivid colours of the sunrise faded from the sky, he showed it to her.

"That's it," she said, looking at the picture on the cover, and then she looked questioningly at him. "You wrote it?" Bellamy nodded, and half an hour later, she was wondering why on earth she'd ever married him, as he still spoke about some dammed horse called Sheba!

Archie knew that Bellamy never really wanted to be bothered about events at home when he was away, but Alison sent him a note to say that the books were all sent to the grandchildren, that he'd been fined for blatantly appearing as a wizard in a medj area, and that royalties from his recent books were now flowing into his main account. He showed Pat the note, and she had him put on his dress robes, and show her what he'd been fined for. Somehow, it was as if she'd never quite believed him before, but now he slipped his hand inside his robes, and produced a fake wand, and she began to comprehend that it really was a different world she was entering.

"What about a peaked hat?" she asked, "Aren't wizards supposed to wear a peaked hat?"

"It's traditional," said Bellamy, "and a lot do, but personally I think they're dreadful things."

Pat was frowning at him thoughtfully, and finally asked him, "What do witches wear?"

"Similar, but a bit different styling, I think," he said, rather vaguely.

Skinny, gawky, and tall, Pat had never found clothing to make her look attractive, but the flow and grace of Bellamy's robes might make her look, at least, impressive. "Can I try them on?" And Bellamy watched with amusement as she put on his robes. They were short for her, and hung badly across her narrow shoulders. But Pat frowned thoughtfully at her reflection, before turning to him with a smile, "When can I get some?"

"I can apparate with you to Diagon Alley," he offered, "And you can be fitted for some right now."

"Right now?" she queried.

"Well, I'd have to work out the time difference," he demurred. Bellamy had been caught enough times to remember that time differences were important. He demonstrated apparation for her, silently vanishing from one side of the room, and instantly appearing again on the other side. But Pat felt panicky at the thought, and said that she couldn't possibly. "I suppose we could take measurements, and I could get you some," he suggested instead. "I don't think they take long to be made up."

Pat smiled at him. "We can at least wear them for the Fancy Dress Ball."

Half an hour later, Bellamy, wearing informal medj clothing again, and with hair pulled back into a pony tail as he usually wore it, apparated into Diagon Alley. It had been so long since he'd appeared in public that he was not immediately recognised. The clothing emporium was where it had always been, but was now Claudette's Clothing Emporium. The redheaded witch who owned it knew him though. "Grandfather Harry!"

"Hello, Claudette," he greeted her. Claudette was old enough that he knew her reasonably well.

Bellamy had detailed measurements, and instructions as to colour, so that he couldn't go too far wrong, and Claudette promised they'd be ready in an hour.

"What do witches wear on their heads with those sort of robes?" he asked her.

"Either a soft hat, usually in matching fabric, or, if they can afford it, a tiara."

"A tiara," Bellamy said. "I think she'd like that."

"Are you really married again?" Claudette asked. The rumour had gone around the family, although no announcement had been made.

"Her name's Pat Howard," Bellamy smiled. "She's a wonderful lady, with a brilliant mind, but she frets because she says she's too tall."

Claudette frowned at him, and then said decisively, "Don't buy a tiara yet. Wait until you come back, and I'll help you."

Bellamy smiled at her. "Thank you." There were so many stories about the great wizard. One was about his appalling taste.

People were beginning to stare and point, as Bellamy went to the wizard bank, Gringotts, to withdraw some gold. The goblin frowned at him. "Alison Kristos does your business, I've never met you."

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, "You know who I am, I'm sure." But the goblin made him put his hand in a magical device before he would acknowledge that he was Henry Bellamy, formerly known as Harry Potter. When he left the bank, Bellamy carried a large amount of gold in an instantly conjured money bag.

There was time to spare, and he went to a place he'd liked since he was a child, and was pleased to see that it was still called Fortescues, and still had his favourite ice-creams. Out of habit, he sat with his back to the wall, where no-one could get him from behind, and waited to see who would be first to approach. Aurors Dieter, Alexander and Ryde appeared close. Bellamy nodded, and Alexander and Ryde stationed themselves to act as bodyguards, while Dieter joined him, and made casual, and undemanding conversation.

There was beginning to be a circle surrounding them, and after a while, a young woman with a baby hesitantly approached. "Grandfather Harry? This is my baby, Nicole."

Bellamy smiled at her, and said tenderly, "Can I see?" She put the tiny baby in his arms, and he caressed the soft cheek. "She's beautiful," he said in a tone of wonder. And the baby looked back at him, and reached up to touch his glasses, as babies had always done.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Grandfather," said the young woman, timidly.

"Thank you, Misty," said Bellamy, leaving Misty wondering how he knew her name, when she was pretty sure she'd never met him. But Bellamy had been introduced to Misty, when she, too, had been a baby, and had seen her a few times when she was very small, too.

There were more then, timid approaches from young members of his family, who greeted him, and proudly showed off their babies. Dieter watched with amusement. Bellamy had been away so long, but he nearly always knew who they were, though he couldn't have met them except as small babies. At last, Bellamy glanced at his watch, and stood. Dieter quickly looked away, hardly believing that he still wore the sensor device.

Bellamy grinned at him. "It's just a watch now," and added, though quite casually and without resentment, "Bloody spies."

Claudette had the robes ready, and helped him choose a tiara and other matching jewellery. Dieter was still close, and drew in his breath at the expense, but Bellamy didn't blink. He'd spent more on Julie as a matter of routine. So many expensive items, many now owned by Adrian's wife, Thea, and many others treasured by the family of her second husband, Mervyn. Alison had quite recently assured him that he still had plenty of money.

Pat had been supposed to wait in the cabin for his return, so that he could apparate to her, seeing that the ship would no longer be in the same place when he returned. But he hadn't been clear enough, and when he appeared at her side, laden with his purchases, Beatrice, who was in the next deck chair on the open deck, looked at him, snorted, and reminded him that he could be fined for that sort of behaviour. He smiled at her. "Pat's fault," he said. "She was supposed to wait in the cabin, so that I didn't appear in public."

Pat looked at Beatrice, surprised. "You're a witch?"

"I was," said the fierce old lady. "I lost a lot of my magic when I grew old, like most witches and wizards. Except for _him_, of course, he's different."

Pat looked back at her husband. She was no longer doubting anything that he said, but it was incredible that every witch or wizard might know his name. "What did you buy?"

There was luckily no-one else close, and Beatrice was looking very interested, too, so he pulled out the robes. Pat caressed the fabric, of a quality she'd never before worn, and Beatrice, too, admired it. He placed the tiara on the head of his wife, and tenderly kissed her on her lips.

Beatrice looked away, remembering a conversation in a school dormitory when she'd been about fifteen. She'd thought it a bit foolish, herself, but one of the girls had said that she planned to seduce the famous and attractive wizard, that she wanted him to be her first lover. It had been a bit of a fashion at the time, as she remembered. It had been rumoured that Tessa Finch had managed it, before being killed with a Death Curse, just a few days later. The girls stopped talking about it for a while after that.

And now he'd married a muggle, and was obviously deep in love with her. She wondered how many knew yet, that the most powerful wizard of them all, had married a muggle!

Pat's robes were in a deep royal blue, that looked good next to Bellamy's. She was very pleased with them. For the first time in her life, she wore clothes that suited her, and they hadn't even been properly fitted. Bellamy smiled at her pleasure, and a few days later, they both presented themselves to Beatrice, all dressed up, even with fake wands conjured for the occasion, before going to the Fancy Dress Ball. Beatrice sniffed begrudgingly, but told Pat she looked nice, and said to Bellamy that at least he wouldn't be fined this time, as it was supposed to be fancy dress.

Pat spent a lot of time talking to Beatrice from then on. The old lady was a lot better than Bellamy himself, at telling stories about his past. Sometimes Pat would smile in recognition, such as when Beatrice told her that one of the stories was that he adored ice-creams, and was perfectly apt to persuade his big, tough, bodyguards to sit out in public with him, and eat ice-creams like children. Or that he had a reputation for seducing his female bodyguards, though Bellamy denied that indignantly when it was put to him. "Hardly any," he said grumpily, "Hardly any!"

Beatrice told Pat about his younger days, too - an old, old story of a powerful wizard defeated when Harry was just seventeen, and his years afterward, when he was never safe from attempts at assassination.

Pat was fascinated, and couldn't get enough of it. After the first weeks, Beatrice's gossip extended to old scandals - particularly illegitimate children, and to misbehaviour, such as a fistfight at a party, and another in the corridor of the Ministry. She even warned her about a certain piece of music that she shouldn't play.

"But it's my favourite!" said Pat. "I love that music, and I like it loud!"

"Fine!" said Beatrice, "If you're happy to have him being sick on the carpet!"

Pat stared at her in blank astonishment, until Beatrice explained. "He was tortured to the sound of that bit of music, and the conditioning stuck." And she referred to a kidnapping, and a subsequent trial because Bellamy killed his kidnappers.

Pat grew more quiet, and sometimes doubted her ability to be happy with a man with such a history, or to keep him happy. She didn't stop asking for stories, but Beatrice had noticed her misgivings, and from then on, her stories were of smaller things, such as the way he'd find any excuse to avoid listening to speeches, and how his wife, Julie, used to boss him about, and he was apparently very happy to allow her to do so.

The cruise was a slow one, with many stops, and some of those stops for several days. In Tahiti, Pat met two of Bellamy's family for the first time, his daughter, Beth, and her daughter, Kate, who now lived with her mother. They were both widowed now. Even at eighty, Kate retained remnants of a great beauty, and the charm and confidence that went with it was still very much evident. And yet Beth looked younger. It was a little difficult for Pat to quite believe.

Beth wanted a chance to talk to Pat privately. She knew how many doubts the young woman still felt, even though she was trying hard to understand and accept the fact of a hitherto unsuspected world. Bellamy was young and vigorous, while Beth's ample body overflowed the chair, and her hair was grey. But when Pat looked at her eyes, she felt the similarity between them. There was something of the same look of wisdom in the eyes.

When she said something like that to Beth though, Beth laughed. "He might be wise in some ways, but he's a fool in others. How long did he take for him to realise he was in love, and wanted to marry you?"

Pat looked questioningly at her, and Beth answered the unspoken question. "He came to see me. It was only a short time after the book launch. I knew he was in love, then. He kept talking about Keifer, and just happening to mention there was a sister called Pat."

Pat smiled. "It was quite a long time after that."

Beth said, "Trust him to love you as long as he lives. He's always been good at loving, and he's never really been happy when he's without a wife to love." Pat gave her a questioning gaze, and Beth answered, "Yes, even if you're ninety, and look it, and he could still pass for twenty-four." And Beth touched her hand. "He loves you, and will love you always."

Pat smiled, feeling comforted and reassured.

Beth cautioned, "There's bound to be difficult times, of course. Harry is unique, and when in the wizarding world, lives a dangerous, and a very public life."

Pat asked hesitantly, "Will he really just go on and on looking the same?"

Beth answered simply, "No-one knows. There's never been anyone like him."

Meantime, Kate was lecturing her grandfather on the necessity of returning to do the spell-breaking that was an essential service for wizardry. Bellamy was on the defensive. "Your mother said I should have time off, that I might get sick again if I went back too soon." Kate still looked at him accusingly, and Bellamy said, "And anyway, I'm on my way back!"

When they rejoined the others, Bellamy was looking harassed, and it had to be explained to Pat that he was expected to do that job that no-one else could do. She wanted further details, and learned a lot about wizard duelling, and its inevitable results, though it wasn't all duelling, of course.

Beth and Kate had to leave then, taking a boat to the quiet island that was now the home of them both. Beth said to Bellamy, just before they left, "If I need to, can we come and live with you?"

"Of course, I'd love to have you there, but you've always said that Roonga Tuku is your home."

Beth said sadly, "I've been very happy there for so long. But the people are turning against me, and it's possible I may need to leave."

Bellamy hugged her very tight. "They've been so privileged to have you. And if you do leave, my home has always been your home, and Kate's too, though I have not the slightest doubt that Kate would be welcome anywhere she chooses to make her home."

Beth smiled. "It's been a consolation having a daughter beautiful and charming, when I'm so much not."

Bellamy squeezed her hand. "The world's a better place for having you in it." And Beth, who could give so much comfort, felt herself comforted.

There was another visit as the ship called in to an American port. And this time, a man of around seventy, not big, and wearing glasses, but radiating power and authority, met them, and was introduced as Adrian, Bellamy's son. Thea was there too, and there was a chance for Thea to talk to Patricia, privately. Thea was not a witch, and had a fellow feeling for Pat. It hadn't always been easy, but it had been rewarding. "My daughter didn't have any magic," said Thea, casually. "Most children of medj/wizard pairs are wizards or witches, though."

It was something that Pat had been thinking of a lot lately, though she'd not yet discussed it with Bellamy, and was still protected against pregnancy. It was too soon. For so many years, she had refused to even think about it, convinced that it would be a part of life closed to her. But now it was a possibility.

Meantime, Adrian was talking to Bellamy, out of earshot, but not far away. Bellamy had thanked him, rather embarrassed, for helping look after him when he'd been ill.

"Don't mention it," said Adrian, going more red than his father. He reached for something to quickly distract them both, and launched into a description of a showjumping competition he'd been to with Thea. "The commentator said that the horse was of the 'Line of Sheba,' becoming well known in showjumping circles. And when we went over to speak to him, it really did look like one of your horses - tall, with a slash of white on its rump."

Bellamy was very interested. "I know Beau had all sorts of plans for a more directed breeding plan, but there were no mares left, so I thought it was all over."

"Did you actually ask?"

"Beau's dead, but no, I didn't ask Archie, or Paul, and Paul did bring me over a horse, so maybe he's still got a mare or two over at his place."

Adrian continued, "Well, from what this one said, there's a few available every year, but they won't sell them to just anyone. And he was obviously very fond of his own, who, he said, regularly frees himself from his paddock, and goes and visits with the horses on the next door property."

Bellamy laughed. "Sounds like the little pinto may have left his genes, then, too."

Adrian asked, "Have you told Pat about your horses?"

Bellamy smiled ruefully. "She told me that if I mention Sheba one more time, she'll borrow my wand, and turn me into a toad!"

Several weeks later, the ship was travelling northward, some miles off the coast of Portugal. Pat joined Bellamy at the railings, where he was watching as the coastline showed, sometimes nearer, sometimes further, in the distance. Pat thought that he looked odd, as if maybe he was trying to remember something. She didn't ask him about it. She knew there was a lot he didn't remember, and he'd said once, with a reddened face, that he'd spent a lot of years being thoroughly pathetic. But then he'd smiled, and said there'd been so many people very kind to him, too. That it just showed that most people had a lot of goodness in them.

But that night at dinner, one of the passengers was telling a story. "One of the crew told me," Violet Blanche was saying. "It was just around here, a different ship, but only a few years ago - a young man, a boy really, jumped overboard and swam to shore."

Bellamy had looked up, and Pat noticed his expression, or rather his lack of expression. He still looked coolly imperturbable as the discussion went on about whether it was likely that someone could make it ashore from this far out. But Mrs. Blanche had more information. "He was simple apparently, and yet could speak several languages."

"An Idiot Savant, then?" suggested one.

Mrs. Blanche shrugged, and continued her story with relish. "Anyway, it was known he didn't drown, because his lover was put ashore, and found him."

"His lover?" queried her husband.

And Mrs. Blanche said with an obvious enjoyment. "His lover! A man and a fellow crew member, not a woman!"

There was speculation about homosexuality among ship's crew, until finally one of the men said that surely it was nobody's business but their own. "But to be forced to jump overboard, poor boy!" said an elderly woman. "Maybe he didn't want to have a lover."

Bellamy had taken no part in the conversation, and only commented that the mushrooms were particularly good, and must be fresh. Pat decided she would never, ever ask.

A memory came back to Bellamy later that night. Lopez had been teaching him table tennis, and he'd become upset because there'd been a row between Lopez and Raphy, whom he'd been playing. Bruno had taken him away, squeezing him, and reassuring him that it was all right. They'd been so good to him, and that incident had been months after the sex had stopped. And he grinned, as he suddenly realised why Raphy had become angry. Raphy had been talking about the 'half-wit,' and Lopez had said jeeringly that maybe if they'd taken the half-wit's glasses away, he wouldn't have been thrashed!

He guessed he should tell Pat about it all one day, but after all, he had a long history, and couldn't tell her everything.

***chapter end***


	40. Chapter 40

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 9_

On Wednesday, March twenty-fifth, the ship arrived at Southampton, England. Bellamy glanced around at luggage, sending it instantly home. But Pat was very nervous when he wrapped an arm around her, preparing to apparate. But he told her tenderly, "It's very easy. First I put an arm around your shoulders, and then I pull you toward me, and do this..."

Pat was left feeling a little giddy after the passionate kiss, but looked around, and said, "We're still in the cabin."

Bellamy said, "They'll be still queuing at the gangplanks - we've got time... "

The apparation zone was being watched, and when they arrived, a half hour later, both Archie and his teenage son Peter came to greet them, though Ursula and the others were inside, as it was a cold and rather blustery day. There was a dog at the heels of Archie, and when Bellamy looked around, he could see horses again, three mares heavily in foal, and three other horses, including Jester. The faint air of neglect that he'd seen last time was gone, and when Peter pointed his wand into the air, it emitted a few low sparks, and a bell rang. At the signal, more people emerged from the big home Pat could see in the distance, and from the direction of some small houses, but those ones looked old, and only waved.

Pat was introduced by Bellamy with an obvious pride - to Archie and Peter, who wore wizard capes, whipping around in the wind. Also to Kitty, Alison and Ursula. Pat was greeted with respect. She was the beloved of the boss, and must be special. Only seven-year-old Margaret stood aside, looking sulky. Margaret was a law unto herself, and didn't treat anyone with a great deal of respect.

Bellamy wrapped an instantly conjured, warm cape around Pat, and suggested they go and see the old ones before entering the house. Pat was shivering, but smiled at him. She hadn't missed the respect with which he'd always spoken about Caradoc. And when she was introduced to Caradoc, she looked into eyes that were as wise and as patient as she thought a saint might look. It gave her the shivers a little, and she felt more comfortable initially with Sybil, who used a stick, and with Clare, who looked vague and had a smear of paint on her face.

It was too early in the season for the gardens to look at their best, but they were no longer, in the slightest bit, neglected, and when Bellamy looked at the flock of sheep, he thought they were as heavily in lamb as the mares were in foal. There was a feeling of promise in the air, and when a light rain started to fall, a rainbow showed briefly.

Pat was staring at what was to be her home now. It was a large and quite beautiful home, and when they went inside, she was surrounded by beautiful things. Her comment was answered, "That was Julie. She was always good at shopping." And Bellamy looked around. "Redecorate whatever you want, and we'll need an addition to the library, for your books."

Kitty was still smiling a welcome all over her face. "I didn't know which bedroom you'd want, so I've got the large downstairs one made up, but also the largest upstairs one, so you can choose."

Pat felt the impact of a different woman's touch when she looked at the downstairs room, and chose the one upstairs.

"The one downstairs doesn't have to be a bedroom, of course," Bellamy told her. "It was only made that way when I was sick, and then it was too much trouble to move."

He left Pat unpacking, and wandered his home, re-acquainting himself with the place he'd lived so long. When he found the swimming pool ready to use, he stripped off his outer clothes, and dived in, delighted. Peter grinned at his father. "Lucky you turned on the heating - I didn't see him stop to check!"

There was a small welcome home party that night, Kitty helped in her catering by both Archie and Ursula, who'd moved back in to one of the small houses. Bridon and Diane came, as did Paul, and his wife, Helena. Pat was tired. It was all too new. But not one of those she met had sneered at her - not because she was Medj, (or a 'muggle,' as Helena had called it) and not because she was too tall, plain, and awkward looking in her body. She'd spoken to Peter, home from Hogwarts for the Easter holidays, but didn't think much of Margaret, who didn't seem to have made any effort at all to be polite.

She slipped away early, but Bellamy noticed, and said his goodnights too, although insisting the party should go on without them. But Pat was most important, and when he found her upstairs, just sitting on the bed, looking into the distance, he sat beside her, rather anxiously.

Pat said feebly, "It's nice."

Bellamy nodded, still anxious. "You can have whatever you want. If it's too cold or something, we can live somewhere else."

Pat gently touched a hand to his cheek. "I don't want to live anywhere else."

The following day, she explored an overgrown, walled garden, and came across a black and white mother cat, suckling four tabby kittens. The cat looked up at her, blinking with an air of total contentment. Patricia made up her mind. She would put her faith in the future - tonight she would talk about a child, though it would take a few months for the contraception she used to wear off.

That night, when they made love, instead of working a spell that vanished semen the instant after his climax, Bellamy only kissed his wife again with an utmost tenderness and joy. He was filled with delight that, in time, there would be a child. Afterwards, he caressed the naked body that lay relaxed beside him in the warm room, outlining the breasts with a tender hand, and touching over flanks and stomach. It was a body that had more grace unclothed than it ever did clothed. Bellamy worked no magic, but maybe Patricia worked some magic. The child was conceived that night.

The day after, Bellamy took Pat to Claudette's, and she had a glorious time choosing materials and styles for more robes. She might be Medj, but she fully intended to adopt the clothing of a witch, especially for formal occasions. Saturday night was the annual Ministry Ball, and she thought she would go. Bellamy wanted to, as he said it was the easiest way to announce his return, and organise a resumption of his spell-breaking. He added, "They always have speeches, but we can go before they start that, or sooner, of course, if you want."

There was some hasty rearranging when Bellamy and his new wife arrived at the Ministry Ball. More aurors were called, and the organisers put back the formalities for an hour. They knew the start of the formalities was the signal for the disappearance of the great wizard, whose hatred of speeches was very well known.

Pat was taken aback when she was introduced to three large, tough-looking men, Alexander, Ryde, and Bruce. Alexander was very black, while Ryde had a livid scar across his face. Their capes were black, with a narrow scarlet border, and each with a prominent badge. "Aurors, on duty," Bellamy explained. She noticed that at least two of those aurors were never far from Bellamy and herself. Bellamy knew there were several others there, not in uniform, almost certainly some of whom would be on duty.

While Pat was near Bellamy, she met no disrespect. She stayed near him, not knowing anyone, and feeling uncomfortable. There were spiteful murmurings from some, and the rumour that she was Medj was already sweeping the gathering. Bellamy was feeling her unease, and only quickly organised to start spell-breaking in London the following Wednesday, and said a brief word of congratulation to the new head of the Auror Department, Julia Everett, and to the new Minister for Magic, one of his own descendants, Dianne Abercrombie. He thought he'd take Pat home. He did not want her subject to any spite, whether or not she was accustomed to it.

Some new arrivals were creating a stir, and Bellamy looked toward the small disturbance. Alexander was tall enough that he could see over heads, and he grinned down at Bellamy. "Were you expecting Kate?" Pat smiled. Someone she knew at last, and she, too, could now see them.

Kate's presence was explained as soon as they greeted her. She had left Beth's island home, saying to Bellamy, slightly worried, that she really thought that her mother should also leave, that there was an atmosphere... Bellamy frowned. But Beth always knew what people were thinking. Surely she'd have the sense to leave if she needed to. Kate was going to live with her son, John Innes, and his wife, Sarah. There had been competition. Her other son also wanted her, and so did three grown-up grandchildren. Even now, she had two devoted slaves with her, apparently unwilling to leave the sunshine of her presence. Kate took Pat under her wing, and Bellamy was sent off to socialise.

There was a catty comment. He'd been enjoying Spectra's wit, but when Spectra dared make a joke at his wife's expense, he whirled on her, eyes narrowed, and forehead scar suddenly blazing.

"So what are you going to do to me," she asked brazenly. "You know you've already got a spell on me, so that I can't attack you or anyone else! It wouldn't be fair attacking me again, would it?"

Bellamy's eyes were still narrowed. "So who cares about fair? Anyone insulting my wife, pays!"

Disbelieving, Spectra put a hand to her face. Pimples! She'd never had pimples in her life! There were titters around her. Spectra may have been attractive to men, but she was not liked by women. She spat a swear word, but he only looked amused, and said, "Manners, dear girl, manners!" Spectra put her chin in the air, glared at him, stalked away, and the moment she left the anti-apparation area, she vanished. She couldn't appear in public with pimples!

Spectra would be better in the morning, but it had been a very public punishment. Word spread. Patricia Howard, wife of the great wizard, would not be insulted again, at least not while her husband was around.

_**x**_

May had always been Bellamy's favourite month at his home. The sun often shone, and this year, lambs played King of the Castle on a grassy mound that Bellamy had made especially for the purpose. The sheep were on agistment, Archie explaining that they kept the grass down, and besides, it was a waste for good pasture not to be used. Bellamy made friends with the owner of the sheep, who checked on them frequently. He made friends with the sheep, too.

There were a dozen mares now, nine of them with new foals, three due any day. A new employee, Victor Armitage, looked after the horses. He was of average height, thickset, and had a black, bushy beard. Paul now ran the 'Line of Sheba' stud, in conjunction with their Andalusians. There were more of Bellamy's mares at his place next door, as well as a stallion. There was a profit sharing arrangement, which Bellamy thought should really pay a lot more to those who had worked to build up the stud, rather than to himself who hadn't even known about it. But when he objected, Archie, Alison and even Paul, told him firmly that he knew nothing of such matters.

He'd not been able to persuade Pat to learn to ride, though she'd learned not to worry when he did. Jester bucked and twisted and reared, always to the great delight of Bellamy. She remembered what Beth had told her - that no-one had such joy in their play as Bellamy.

Inside the house, a large room adjacent to the library became part of it, lined with shelves, furnished with comfortable chairs and tables, and stocked with Pat's thousands of books. She was like Bellamy, cherishing books for their own sakes, and had spent several contented days arranging them exactly to her liking.

She was astonished when she found boxes and boxes of her brother's books, and Bellamy looked guilty. "They're selling by themselves, now - I just gave it a bit of a nudge at the start." And then, anxiously, "You won't tell him, will you?"

She smiled at him in gratitude, "I won't tell him."

That evening, as they ate dinner, Pat led the conversation to healers as opposed to doctors.

"Well, healers use magic, of course, but really, the biggest difference is in philosophy. While medj healing is often very invasive, frankly degrading even, in wizardry, there is nothing like that, or nothing I've met, anyway. The dignity of the body is much more greatly respected. A healer would know more, of course."

"Is it always better?" Pat asked.

"Not always. For example, Wizardkind is actually a bit more prone to cancer than Medjkind, but the treatment is only pain relief, and it's excellent for that, and a merciful death when it's time."

Pat said thoughtfully, "That might be better, even if life's shorter."

Bellamy agreed, and Pat went on, "Are wizards more prone to other types of illnesses?"

Bellamy nodded, "Sudden heart attacks are not uncommon, usually fatal. On the other hand, wizards are very resistant to all varieties of infection, so, for instance, there's no need for antibiotics, or REF injections."

Pat was thoughtful. "If there's no physical intervention, what would happen if a person is unconscious for weeks or months."

Bellamy said in a matter-of-fact tone, "They would starve to death. There's a spell to get pure water into an unconscious person, but it works poorly, and doesn't work at all for even liquid food, or potions."

"But that's awful!"

"It's not as bad as it sounds, as usually even an apparently unconscious or almost unconscious person can be persuaded to take some food when the body needs it." Pat was frowning at him thoughtfully. Bellamy said, "I've been pretty sick myself at various times, but I've survived."

"Operations?"

Bellamy shook his head, "Never."

The conversation strayed to Bellamy's spell-breaking then, as he was to start doing overseas trips the following week. But over coffee, Pat brought the conversation back to healing. "What about pregnancy and childbirth?"

Bellamy looked at Pat with delighted hope on his face. But Pat said firmly, "Just answer the question." Bellamy was trying not to smile. But he shook his head, and tried to answer the question as best he knew.

"Well, I've heard Ginny saying how totally useless they are for morning sickness, but from what I've heard, they're excellent for childbirth. I've been told that medj childbirth can be agony, but with a competent witch healer, it never is." And he said, not concealing his delighted hope, "A specialised healer would come here when it's close to time, and stay until after the baby's born." And he couldn't restrain himself. "Are you...?"

Pat said firmly, "It's too early to be sure, and the contraception wasn't even supposed to have worn off yet. But maybe..."

***chapter end***


	41. Chapter 41

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 10_

The following Monday, Bellamy was in Italy, working, although he planned on returning every evening, except on the rare occasions that he made himself too tired. Pat was working in the walled garden, a secluded place in which she took a considerable delight. Caradoc had helped with the heavy work. He may have been very old, but Caradoc had a wand. The cat, with her kittens, still lived there, in a cosy place beneath a garden seat, though she was well known in the kitchen. There was a stone tablet close, and Pat knew that Bellamy's second wife, Luna, was buried here. She wondered if Luna would mind if she was buried here too, when the time came. From what her husband had told her, she didn't think she'd mind.

The sound of gunshots startled her. Cautiously, she poked her head out the doorway. There was a gathering she could see, but she could pick out Kitty and Alison, so went over to investigate.

In a small yard were about twenty sheep; not the lambing ewes, but others that Archie had arranged to buy. There was a lesson in progress, with Caradoc the tutor. Kitty, Alison and Ursula were all practising defence spells, and one by one, sheep were being immobilised. In the next paddock, a target had been set up, and Clare, of all people, was teaching Victor how to use a rifle. Victor had no magical power, although he came from a wizarding family - a 'Squib,' as she was told. Pat thought 'Squib' sounded even more belittling than muggle.

Caradoc saw her come, and proceeded with the lesson. He thought the time had come when Pat had to know that Bellamy lived a very dangerous life when in the wizarding world, and Pat, too, could be in danger. She sat on a garden seat, that Caradoc had quite deliberately moved to a convenient spot for a spectator. It was not conjured, as only Bellamy's conjures could be relied on to last very long.

Pat was frowning thoughtfully. Her husband's employees apparently thought it worthwhile for cooks and secretaries to be able to defend themselves, and maybe even to defend their boss. And when they'd gone to Diagon Alley the previous week, again, some very tough looking men had turned up, and stayed close. Bellamy had taken it for granted, and only introduced her to Stan, and reminded her that she'd met Alexander at the Ministry Ball. There were his scars, too, that she'd become used to. But only the previous week she'd asked him why he always wore a watch on each wrist, and he'd shown her scars where he'd apparently been tied up once. He'd blushed bright red when she asked what had happened, and only muttered something about having made a colossal fool of himself, so she hadn't persisted. There was still a lot she didn't know about her husband.

After a while, Pat walked over to Clare, and asked if she, too, could learn to use a rifle. Caradoc, watching, smiled. She wasn't afraid to face facts then. He was beginning to think that Bellamy had made an excellent choice, certainly a very different woman from Julie, whom he knew he'd loved, but whom he'd never really admired himself. Caradoc suspected that Bellamy might never have become so lost, if only Julie had stayed with him.

By the end of the lesson, Pat knew how to load and fire her rifle, and Clare was suggesting they go back to their place, and she'd show her how to clean it. "The boss doesn't know, of course," Clare said. "He'd only get upset. But if there's ever another raid, we'll be more prepared." And as Pat worked methodically at the job she'd been set, she was told about the raid that had left her husband lying badly wounded, under the dying man who'd tried to protect him.

Caradoc was reading, close by. He was old now, looking to be around ninety, but with his unique history, he was chronologically, much older - the only person left in the world who was older than Bellamy. He looked up when the lesson finished, and said casually, "Why don't you show her Will's grave?" So Clare took Pat to the small cemetery, and pointed out the grave of Will, the big feeble-minded man who'd given his life to save his boss.

"There's a painting in the entry hall," commented Pat.

Clare nodded. "Yes, I did that. Harry was very fond of Will."

Pat was cautioned later, by Caradoc, now reading a newspaper in an easychair in the sunshine, that young Margaret knew nothing of firearms, and was not to be told. "An unusual girl." he said.

Pat nodded. She'd scarcely spoken to redheaded Margaret, of the sulky face. Margaret seemed bent on keeping right away from both herself and Bellamy. She was at school now.

Meantime, in Italy, Bellamy was becoming depressed and angry. Why did Italy have so many pumpkin-heads? And why was their auror department unable to work out who was responsible? Out of twelve, only two were alive, and he knew there were to be more in the afternoon. Dieter was keeping a wary eye on him. It_ seemed_ that Bellamy was perfectly healthy these days, but he suspected they'd nearly lost him before because of too many dead pumpkin-heads.

Out of the next contingent, Bellamy checked the ten monsters lined up, and again pronounced just two alive. Cindy, who was so fast, was in the workroom with him, as well as Alexander, and Dieter.

Bellamy had Cindy make the barrier for him, only modifying the door sized portion that needed his special abilities. And then he dropped his head, looked blindly at the floor, and started to concentrate. The witch was in a trance - not panicking, not dead. Bellamy had struck a rare few like this, and very much admired the control that it took to comprehend their situation, to overcome their terror, and to put themselves in a trance that would keep them alive years longer than normal. But now he was doing something else, and the witch was allowing it. Through her mind, he was feeling for the mind of her attacker. She had known him quite well. Bellamy was now feeling _his _mind, feeling his memories, feeling his experiences. The wizard was under his control, and answering his questions. That one had used the spell many times, and was now the head of the Italian Auror Department. Mussari was his name. His next goal was Minister for Magic. The current Minister was already marked as a target. Bellamy found Mussari guilty, exerted his will, and the head of the Italian Auror Department slumped forward onto his desk, dead.

The others in the room wondered what Bellamy was doing, as he was taking a lot longer than usual. He was sweating, too, and beginning to tremble. Graham was watching him anxiously.

Bellamy had allowed the witch imprisoned inside a monster, to watch, as he killed. And when he made the cure, she knew that she was already avenged, and didn't try to attack Bellamy. One last request to the witch, in her mind, that he would prefer that she not tell anybody what he'd done. Executions were illegal. Nuria Choria was in full agreement. Executions might be illegal, but she thought this one fully justified. And when Bellamy finally dropped the barrier, he told his aurors to leave her alone.

Nuria looked at him assessingly, then crossed to him, hugged him tight, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

Bellamy smiled, and nodded, but he was very weary, and sat in his chair against the wall, leaning back his head, and closing his eyes. Graham gave him one glance, and said to Dieter, "Half hour break." Dieter nodded, and went out, conferring with the Italian Coodinator.

Bellamy's shaking finally subsided. It was not an easy thing that he'd just done. "How many more?" he asked Dieter, now back in the room.

"The other pumpkin-head," said Dieter, "And a half dozen ordinary ones, but we can put them off if you like."

Bellamy said, "No, I'll do them, but you might send a message to Pat for me, that I won't be home tonight." Dieter nodded.

The work was finished, and Bellamy even allowed Graham to do his checks. It only confirmed what both Bellamy and Graham already knew, that he was very tired.

At dinner that night, the talk was about schooling. "My son, Adrian, is now headmaster at Zefron," Bellamy mentioned casually.

The Italian Coodinator/translator, Gino, was present, flattered to have been issued with the rare invitation by Dieter, at Bellamy's prompting. Dieter was wondering what on earth Bellamy was up to, though he had no idea, of course, that the sudden death of an Italian Head of Department had any relation to Bellamy's work that day. Probably he wouldn't have believed it, if told. It was an impossible feat.

The talk wound round and round the subject of education, Graham getting a very heavy frown from Bellamy when he tried to talk about something else. And now Graham knew that Bellamy was up to something as well. The invitation to visit Rome's school of Witchcraft and Wizardry was apparently the idea of Gino, accepted by the great wizard with a flattering pleasure.

"Early Friday afternoon, then, when we've finished work?" asked Bellamy. "I've heard of a couple of your Professors - supposed to be very good - Professor Radwick, I think it is, Potions, and Professor Dado, Defence. I'd be very pleased to meet them."

Gino was almost stuttering in his pleasure. "It'll be an honour. They'll be thrilled." As he thought more about it, his smile was even more ecstatic. "The Minister, he'll be there, of course. Such an honour!"

Bellamy had got what he wanted, but was beginning to think it was going to be a considerable ordeal.

Dieter walked with Bellamy when he started heading back to his room. He was looking rather unapproachable, striding quickly along the corridor. He didn't get lost these days. Dieter decided not to be put off. "Bellamy, what exactly are you up to?"

Bellamy hesitated, and then invited him into his room. "Coffee?" he asked.

Dieter said, "Black, no sugar." It looked like Bellamy might actually be intending to tell him what was behind this unusual move. He never wanted to be flattered, hated meeting dignitaries, and yet he'd perfectly deliberately contrived this visit to a school.

Bellamy sipped his own coffee. "Do you have any idea how many Italians have died these past twenty years, of the pumpkin-head curse?"

Dieter shrugged. "Besides the ones you've seen, there's probably dozens more when you were gone."

Bellamy nodded. "Someone's teaching the curse. I'm hoping to find who it is, and stop them."

Dieter looked frowningly at him. "How?" he demanded. "Challenge him to a duel? No one in their right minds would take you up!"

"Probably a little more subtle than that," smiled Bellamy, and then an apparent irrelevance. "Who were you planning to send with me?"

"Who do you want?" asked Dieter.

"You, Bruce, and Cindy with me," said Bellamy decisively. "What I want is a bit of a disagreement. The matter of pumpkin-heads needs to come up, I'll condemn the spell, but what I want is for you or Bruce, or even both, to admire the wizard who can do it. It's a difficult spell. Not many can do it. It must be a very powerful wizard, etcetera, and maybe even a bare hint that you wished you had the ability yourself."

"And Cindy?"

"Cindy should flatter the professors, especially Professor Dado, who teaches Defence. I think he's probably the one."

Dieter understood, "You want to get them thinking about it, so you know for sure." But he frowned. "And then what? You have to keep within the law, you know!"

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, "But of course," and he got to his feet, and stretched in an obvious hint that he was tired and it was time for Dieter to leave.

Dieter still frowned. "You have to keep within the law!" He regarded Bellamy suspiciously for a moment longer before leaving, but Bellamy took no notice. Stan and a young, redheaded auror, called Scott, took guard outside the door.

Bellamy hardly ever had nightmares any more. He had begun to think he'd finally outgrown them. But he had never outgrown his terror of confinement and helplessness, and there could be no more awful imprisonment than that of being imprisoned within one's own head, unable to see, hear, taste or even feel. Stan wrenched open the door of Bellamy's bedroom when they heard his terrified scream. But it was only to see him crouched beside his bed where he'd fallen, trembling, and with tears on his face, but shaking his head, trying to understand that it was just a dream.

Scott just stared, not quite knowing what to do, but Stan went straight to his side, helping him to a chair. Bellamy was only wearing sleeping shorts, and they could see clearly how he shuddered convulsively as he sat, head bowed in front of them. It was a while before he recovered enough to apologise, and mutter something about being an awful fool, and just a nightmare.

He still felt shattered, and Scott, at a very quiet word from Stan, slipped away to rouse Graham. Bellamy had always wanted to walk away the agitation and tension of a nightmare, but this time, he only leaned back in his chair, said to Stan that it was all right, to leave him alone, and closed his eyes. He doubted if he _could_ walk when he shook so much. Stan conjured a blanket, warmed it with his magic, and tucked it around him. Bellamy looked up in surprise. "I'll be better in a minute," he said, "There's no need to fuss."

His surprise changed to irritation when Graham brought him a steaming potion, and told him he should drink it, and then Dieter arrived as well, called by Scott. He'd automatically taken the potion in a shaking hand, but now said, annoyed, "Look, I'm sorry I screamed, but it was only a nightmare, and I'm just going for a walk for a bit and then I'll be fine," and he put the potion down on the table, spilling some, and rose to his feet.

Dieter calmly ordered, "Stan, Scott, outside the door. Bellamy, drink the potion." Bellamy ignored him, and started dressing, having some difficulty as he still shook. Dieter frowned, and said again, "Bellamy, drink the potion."

Graham was concerned. Dieter should not be trying to order the great wizard, whether or not he knew best. "It's just a calming potion, Bellamy," he said, anxiously, trying to avoid a confrontation.

Bellamy glanced at Graham, and then, rather mockingly, at Dieter, before drinking the potion, and saying with a touch of sarcasm, "_Now,_ can I go for a walk?"

Dieter gave a silent sigh of relief, but only said, "I'll walk with you." Bellamy nodded, finding that the trembling had finally subsided enough that he could do up buttons.

Dieter and Bellamy walked a long time in the quiet, dark streets of Rome, Stan and Scott following a way behind as additional protection.

"The potion did you good, didn't it?" Dieter finally said.

Bellamy acknowledged, "It helped a little bit."

Dieter smiled, "I think Graham was terrified you'd turn me into a toad!"

Bellamy grinned. "Were you?"

"I've had enough to do with you now that I'm not afraid you'll lose self-control."

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, "You seemed to think I might act outside the law a little earlier."

"A different thing," said Dieter. "I think you might go outside the law if you chose, but only in a very self-controlled way!"

Bellamy turned to him, laughing, and after a moment, Dieter, too, started laughing.

The streets were beginning to look familiar to Bellamy. He slowed down as he came to a brightly it building. "I nearly starved here a few years ago," he mentioned to Dieter. "I thought I was being hunted so I didn't show myself to buy food, and then I was too obviously weak to be given a job, so I ran out of money." He pointed. "Father Tarzia in there, saved my life."

Dieter was very surprised that he'd been the recipient of this confidence. He felt rather honoured, too. Bellamy had never spoken about those lost years, and seldom about himself at all. "You _were_ being hunted," he said. "Laurie and Johns wanted you found at all costs. There were enemies, too, as well as the muggle police."

"Medj police," corrected Bellamy absent-mindedly. "So it wasn't in my imagination?"

"The hunt was centred in France, but no, it wasn't in your imagination."

"What triggered it?" asked Bellamy with mild curiosity.

Dieter hesitated, and Bellamy glanced over at him. Dieter said vaguely, "It was hospital records, as you'd had some sort of an accident."

There was a silence. They walked on. "Are we going to walk all night?" Dieter asked finally.

"We'll head back now, if you like."

Dieter asked curiously, "How much do you remember of those years?"

Bellamy glanced at him again. "Some years are a total blur, sometimes I remember quite clearly."

Dieter wanted to know if he remembered the whipping, and what had led to it, but he didn't quite ask. Bellamy heard the loud thought, but chose not to acknowledge it. He hadn't known the Ministry knew he'd been whipped, and still his memory only included handing a whip back to a short and very angry man, with the knowledge that he'd done wrong.

Just before they arrived back, Bellamy suddenly remembered, and asked, "By the way, what happened to Brian Draffen?"

"I heard he went to New Zealand, and is now married."

Bellamy smiled. "New Zealand! He might have found what he wanted in New Zealand." He knew there had once been some witches there who had telepathic talents. And as he'd told Brian, sex with a Telepath was dynamite!

Scott and Stan, walking behind and out of earshot, were very relieved when, approaching from an unexpected direction, they were at the hotel.

Dieter was absent at breakfast, and Stan was limping. Scott seemed all right, but was yawning. They hoped that Bellamy wouldn't stay again overnight. It was altogether too wearing. The next few days were routine, except that Graham and Cindy were primed on their roles for Friday.

Friday afternoon, Bellamy found that the whole school, pupils and teachers were assembled to give a rousing cheer, as he entered the school. The Minister for Magic shook his hand, as if he'd never let go, and a dozen more of Italy's most influential were also there to make much of the great wizard. He was beginning to think he might not achieve his goal, but Dieter and Jed combined to split the party, and Bellamy, Bruce and Cindy were left to meet the professors. It was easy enough to raise the subject of pumpkin-heads, and Bellamy fell silent, as Bruce and Cindy played their roles. Vociferous in his adamant opposition to the use or teaching of the curse, was Professor Dado. At the same time, his mind was full of conceit that he'd been the indirect cause of numerous victims.

For once, Bellamy was prying. There was another, too, who hadn't used it, but liked to think that he could do it, and he, too, had passed on his knowledge. And right in front of a dozen wizards and witches, Bellamy worked his magic. When he spoke with power, people quieted. All he did was to say calmly that the pumpkin-head curse should never be used, should never be taught, and that those who knew it, should forget how to do it. But there was a lacing of magic with his words, and the next time that Professor Dado went to teach it to an ambitious youngster, he found that he could no longer remember how to do it.

"Did you do what you went to do?" Dieter asked him as they left the school.

"I did, but what a price!" said Bellamy. "My hand's wrung to death, and why seventeen women and a dozen men had to kiss my cheek, I really don't know!"

"What did you do?"

Bellamy shrugged, "I just told them it shouldn't be taught, that's all."

"With magic?"

"Now _that_ would be outside the law, and anyway, I was never once alone with anyone for long enough to raise a wand."

Dieter grunted. It was perfectly well known among the aurors that Bellamy did not require a wand, although he usually pretended to.

***chapter end***


	42. Chapter 42

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 11_

The weeks went by, and the weather turned balmy. Bellamy worked every week, as there was such a backlog from those years in which he'd wandered in the wilderness. And every weekday, whenever Bellamy was absent, Caradoc supervised Bellamy's employees as they practised their spells, and Pat and Victor practised with their rifles, although Pat was beginning to think that a handgun was more likely to be useful. She knew now of the spells and enchantments that kept the location of the home protected, and Bellamy had told her that there was a hidden London house too, that he'd show her one day.

Pat loved her new home more and more as flowers bloomed, and the baby animals played in the sunshine. A half grown tabby kitten came strolling into the lounge room one day, studied Pat sitting in her chair, and leapt onto her knee. The kitten had chosen, and Pat had a new friend.

Pat was beginning to spend more and more time with Caradoc. Clare was usually either in a dream, or off painting, sometimes both at the same time. She was working on a painting of Jester at the moment, which Pat wanted for Bellamy. But there were three small paintings of mares and foals also in progress. Clare was becoming a very well known artist in the medj world.

It was confirmed now that Pat was pregnant, and Graham had a list of specialised healers for her to choose from. But Pat consulted Ursula, who recommended Healer Esme Rutherford. Ursula found herself quite unable to keep it quiet, and the news spread, first through the family, with all its ramifications, and then through the wizarding world generally. One result was the sudden appearance at breakfast of a pair of house-elves, who politely requested that they be allowed to return to service with the Potters.

Pat was still staring, mouth open, never having seen a house-elf before. But Bellamy had a smile all over his face. They were odd creatures, house-elves, but very useful to have around. "You will not be Bonded, of course," he said, "And I hope you will accept a wage."

The female stood proudly erect, and said, "_I _am a descendant of Dobby and Winky. I am a free house-elf, and will accept a wage."

Her mate gave her a look askance, and nodded. "Whatever Ricos says," he muttered.

Graham ordered a two week break from spell-breaking. Some of the patients Bellamy had been curing lately, had been cursed a long time, which often made it harder, and he was needing the strong magic more often. On a few occasions, he'd tired himself, and chosen not to risk apparating, but stayed with the team overnight instead. Don, who arranged the trips, queried Graham, but was told firmly that Bellamy was irreplaceable, and that his health had to be guarded. Bellamy was pleased to have a holiday, and thought that soon, he'd ask to go back to only alternate weeks spell-breaking, as he'd mostly done in the past. He'd never actually intended devoting his life to undoing the results of other people's stupidity, after all.

The first day of his holiday, a treat was arranged. It was bright sunshine, and he joined Paul and Victor as they saddled their horses for a long ride on the moors. Paul had a backpack on his shoulders, as did Bellamy himself. Nothing special, just a picnic lunch. They were laughing, joking, all of them happy with the planned excursion. Victor had his own horse, that he'd ridden for many years, a solidly built black horse, while Paul had a chestnut mare, a speedier, lighter animal. Bellamy was on Jester.

Margaret confronted them. "I want to come," she declared.

Bellamy looked at the pugnacious girl, and said, surprised, "I thought you didn't like riding, and anyway, there's no suitable horse for you."

"I want to come," the child repeated.

Bellamy slipped off Jester, lifted the child onto his horse's back, leapt up behind her, and asked if that was all right.

Margaret twisted in her seat, and gave him a blinding smile.

"We'll have to tell your mum, then," said Bellamy.

Paul and Victor had been thoroughly annoyed with the child making a nuisance of herself, but as the three horses loped easily across the moors, their irritation vanished. Margaret was blissfully happy, held firmly by a strong arm around her, moving as easily with the horses' motion as did her Grandfather Harry. To the men's astonishment, it was little Margaret who spread a red and white checked table cloth, and laid out the picnic on the grass, at a high place that overlooked the sea. She was especially attentive to Bellamy. "I have to look after you," she announced seriously, as she brushed crumbs off his front. "It's the Barnes family tradition. Peter can have Mrs. Boss, but I'm getting you."

Victor and Paul were trying hard not to laugh, but Bellamy only said gravely, "Thank you, Margaret. I'll be very happy to have you look after me." A delighted smile spread across the face of the little girl, as she watched him possessively.

Later, Bellamy did mention to Ursula and Archie that they must make it clear to their children, that they could, if they chose, do something else with their lives, that it was not compulsory to look after him just because their name was Barnes. Archie grinned. "We never told them they had to, and Ursula even suggested to Margaret that she should be a nurse, like her mother and grandmother."

"And what did she say to that?" asked Bellamy, curiously.

"She said she didn't want to look after _sick_ people!"

Margaret's birthday was coming up, and, with her usual lack of diffidence, she demanded a small horse. "The boss will teach me to ride," she announced.

Archie bought her a grey pony, but it was mostly Victor who taught her to ride. With unusual severity, Ursula told her that she was not to pester the boss, that he had his own things to do. With unusual docility, Margaret stopped pestering the boss, even though she always had a very good idea where he was, and what he was doing whenever he was home. She still ignored Pat, and Pat took little notice of the child.

Pat was happy and well, and beginning to read her way through Bellamy's library, though she thought it might take several years. She frowned at him once, though, as he dropped to the grass beside her in the garden. "I'm not accustomed to reading books I don't understand," she said, in an annoyed tone. Bellamy looked questioningly at her, and she showed him the book.

"Grasstici Luculi," he said. "Even with a wizarding background, only about a dozen people in the world fully understood it, I suspect." She still looked cross, and he laughed. "Do you think I understood your thesis on the internal telemetrical physical structure of black holes?"

"That's not what it's called," Pat said.

"Well, it was something like that," said Bellamy.

Pat agreed, smiling, "Something like that."

She lay the book down. "You've written quite a few books," she stated.

Bellamy was lying on his back, and now a ginger cat stepped casually onto his chest, sat herself down, and started washing herself. "Most were for the wizard market," he said, "And with that type of book of theory, I only ever print a few, just on the writing machine."

"I love the writing machine," said Pat. "Just say what you want, and it makes your book for you." She stood and lifted the cat from her husband's chest, so that he could sit up.

Bellamy looked at her. "Is there something you want?"

Pat replied, "I'd like to buy a car, as I'm beginning to find it irksome to rely on you whenever I want to do something."

"I think I've got one," said Bellamy, getting to his feet. "There was one in the garage, anyway."

But Pat regarded the sleek and flashy car dubiously. "Not really my style."

Bellamy looked rather helpless. "I don't know where to go to buy a car."

Pat suggested, "Connor Maguire?"

Bellamy nodded confidently, "He'll know!"

Not long later, Bellamy watched admiringly, as Connor and Pat discussed her requirements and Connor drove them to a town. Pat drove him back in a new car, far more sedate looking than the other, though with a more powerful engine. It was not in a conspicuous make or colour. She was very aware, by now, that her husband had enemies. As a matter of routine, he put a charm on the car. It would not be followed, not stolen, and not ever be noticed by meddlesome medj policemen. All the same, Ursula casually presented Pat with an apparently genuine British driving license, and that had a charm on it, too.

"You can have a helicopter, with a pilot, if you want," Ursula mentioned. "Bellamy asked about it before you were even married, though he said it was for Clare and Sybil who can't apparate, and Caradoc, who doesn't any more."

Pat declined, saying that a car was quite sufficient for the time being.

Now that Pat was more independent, she went back to Connor with a different query, but Britain had very severe laws about the possession of firearms, and she found no help. "I just don't know," he said. "I understand why you want one, and if you ask Ursula or Archie, they can probably even put a spell on so that if someone sees it, they'll think it's a book, or something, but I have no idea where you'd get one."

Connor knew quite a bit of Bellamy's history from Adrian. His life could be dangerous. And he also knew that Pat wasn't telling her husband that she was planning to carry a gun. But Connor was already developing a profound respect for the tall woman with the penetrating intelligence, and had no intention himself of telling Bellamy, who, he thought, was likely to be silly about the need for people around him to take defensive action.

In the second week of their holiday, Bellamy and Pat went to Bellamy's London house, planning to stay a few days, and eat out each day as there would be no-one to cook, Pat being a worse cook, if possible, than Bellamy. "Beth and Adrian know about it," he told her, as they paused in the entry hall, "But no-one else."

He caressed her tummy, now showing a very slight curve. "We'll tell the little one too, of course, when it's time."

Pat looked at the oddly furnished and decorated house. There was still some old and valuable silverware, from the time of the Black family residence, heavy antique furniture, which, she suspected, might be very valuable, but a lot of stark white walls, with occasional flashes of vivid colour. Bellamy casually started moving about, vanishing and re-conjuring certain of the furniture. "My stuff seems to last between seventy and eighty years mostly, but it's always a bit unpredictable, and this must be about sixty years old."

Pat mentioned, "Kitty was telling me that the record's sixteen months."

Bellamy shrugged, "I never told the records people." Wandering around after Pat, who was exploring, he said, "The house-elves must still be looking after it. I don't remember when I was here last."

Pat said, puzzled, "Is there a shower?" Bellamy conjured a shower recess, and said something about it being lucky that at least they'd done the plumbing part without magic.

Pat reached out to him, and her tone changed. "I think we should christen the house!" And when the house-elves turned up a little while later to look after the boss and his wife, they quickly took themselves discreetly off to the basement. But Pat and Bellamy had no need to go out to dinner, and a bed was already made up for them, with clean sheets and warm blankets. Pat had never been short of money, on a good salary, and with no children, but she hadn't known the sort of coddling that Bellamy had enjoyed most of his life either. She thought she liked it!

After two weeks of sunshine and holiday, the Monday when Bellamy went back to work was cold, and sleet started to fall. Kitty knocked, and came into the loungeroom where Pat was reading, and waved her wand at the fire, which immediately started burning warmer. Two reclining cats blinked at the flames, in what appeared to be approval. Pat took that sort of action for granted, now, and only thanked her.

"Defence practice, ten o'clock," mentioned Kitty.

Pat nodded, "I'll be there." Her aim was improving, but as they never practised when Bellamy was about, there were no plans to miss a day just because the weather was bad.

Kitty wandered around, plumping up cushions, and straightening a newspaper, quite unnecessarily. Pat put down her book, and paid attention. Kitty said, rushing it. "I'm engaged, and I want you and the boss to come to my engagement party, and to tell me if I'm allowed to bring Sidney here."

Pat had never been part of one of those groups that form, cooing over new engagement rings, but she'd seen the phenomenon enough to know what she was supposed to do. Kitty was satisfied with her attention, congratulations, and her admiration of the pretty ring that she wore. She'd been supposed to notice it without prompting, but after Kitty had casually waved it for three days in front of her, and she said nothing at all, Kitty had given up.

Saturday, at Sidney's place, Pat was told. "There'll be a lot there, so I'll tell my brother, who's an auror, and he can organise for your bodyguards."

Pat frowned. "Would we need bodyguards at a private party?"

"The great wizard _always _needs bodyguards," Kitty said firmly. "One of the aurors was killed just a few years ago, only because he was mistaken for him."

Pat was surprised. "Henry didn't tell me that!"

Kitty looked uncomfortable. "He probably doesn't know. Best not to tell him."

"No. Best not to tell him." Pat was beginning to know her husband. He was apt to feel himself responsible for things that were not really his fault.

Kitty plumped up another cushion. "He's saved the lives of a lot of aurors, you know. There were three, late last year, who were prisoners, and then there's been others over the years, as well. And that's not counting the ones he's pulled out of spells. They think the world of him, Homer says."

She went off, then, leaving Pat thoughtful, and after a while, gently rubbing her abdomen, which was uncomfortable. And then she smiled. No matter what the dangers, life was very good for her now, and she brooded tenderly over a memory of a special time with her husband, nearly two weeks before, on soft grass, in a thick grove of trees, where no-one could see them. It was always rather special, love-making in the open air.

Gradually, the way that Pat was relating to the staff was beginning to change. On her orders, the gates were now kept shut at night, and whenever they were not watched. On her request, Caradoc put a spell on the gates and on the fences to ring an alarm if somebody tried to force an entry. Being Medj, Pat was apt to think of the sort of precautions that Medjkind took, although Bellamy, when questioned, only said that Medj had never seriously threatened him, and he really preferred the gates left open, at least during the days.

On being asked, Ursula agreed there was plenty of money to hire security guards, but said that Bellamy always preferred people around him whom he knew. The reward for his death was very large, and treachery was always a risk. No new employee was hired without being looked at by Beth or by Bellamy. But then they were apt to get married, and then there were families, which could also lead to complications. Pat spoke to Caradoc about it, too, who said that the greatest protection they could organise was the secrecy of the place.

***chapter end***


	43. Chapter 43

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 12_

"Austria now, a short three days in Holland, plus two days here, then three weeks straight, in America," Don told Bellamy.

"All right if I bring my wife for the trip to America?"

Don protested. "Surely you can do without your wife for a few weeks."

Bellamy smiled, "No, I don't think I can_ possibly_ do without my wife for three whole weeks!"

"Well, I'll have to check," said Don.

"Check," said Bellamy, "But if Pat doesn't want to come, or someone thinks to say she can't come, then they'll have to do without me, as well."

Don looked surprised, and then chuckled. "We'd best hope she's happy to come then. Madam Abercrombie is rather excited about the American trip, and I believe she's going over and taking her husband for a few days when you're in New York, so she's hardly going to say you can't bring your wife."

The week in Austria passed without incident, except that Bellamy was coming to know his assigned aurors very well. He liked it when there were few changes. Always Dieter in charge, then almost always, Cindy, Bruce, Stan, Alexander and Scott, though there'd probably be a couple more for America, so that they could have days off now and then.

The Ministry had always insisted on bodyguards for him, though he was quite sure that the original reason he was assigned a Ministry 'Observer' when he worked his cures, was to spy on him. But they'd been doing it for so long now, that he took it for granted, and nearly always became very friendly with them.

On Saturday, Pat dressed in new robes ready for Kitty's party, pleased with the effect. Others of the staff were going, too, but when they assembled, Ursula took one look at Bellamy, said that it wouldn't do at all, and herself looked in his wardrobe, and selected a set of robes in colours that didn't clash with Pat's. Bellamy changed, and afterward, Ursula picked the discarded robes from the floor, shook them out, and hung them back up again, shaking her head. She wondered who'd done that for him in the years he'd wandered.

Bellamy gave Kitty a pearl and gold necklace as an engagement present, putting it around her neck himself, and kissing her on the cheek. He also, without hesitation, gave permission for Sidney to visit or take up residence at his property, telling him the apparation coordinates himself, so that the enchantments would not cause an immediate forgetting.

Sidney thanked him. "I've always been grateful to you, saving me from prison."

Bellamy was surprised, "Did I?"

"Of course, you were a witness in court for me."

Bellamy nodded casually, and congratulated him again on his charming fiancée, and only the following day did he go to Archie and ask him what Sidney had been talking about. Archie was surprised, but told him the story in detail.

Bellamy said sheepishly. "No need to tell anyone that I'd forgotten."

"I won't tell anyone," Archie assured him, "Though I'm surprised. You were seeming so normal at the time, that I'd never have thought you'd forget."

Bellamy shrugged, still rather red-faced, and went off, inviting Margaret to join him on her pony for a ride over to Bridon's place. He quite enjoyed the company of the little girl, who looked a lot less sulky these days.

Three days in Holland. Holland was always easy, and the most part of the second two days were taken up with patients from neighbouring countries. There had been no more pumpkin-heads since those in Italy, and Bellamy was hoping that the curse had become rare again, as it had nearly always been. In most areas of the world, it was unknown, though there were other wicked curses, especially in Japan.

Pat came to London for the day on Thursday, and, as Bellamy went off to the Ministry, Archie and Ursula went with Pat as she wandered the streets of London. She wasn't interested in going to Diagon Alley this time, she just wanted a few clothes for normal wear in America. Bellamy had promised her that she could watch him work, if she wanted, and also told her that they'd be at the beach for the first week, and New York for the third week, although he couldn't remember what their base was to be for the middle week's work.

Ursula, Archie and Pat had lunch together in a good restaurant, while Bellamy, at the Ministry, was provided with sandwiches, Dianne having said severely to him that she knew he didn't want any formalities. Bellamy looked with amusement at the stale sandwiches, with the curling edges and Diane said, "Of course, if you want to join me and a few others, we do have a very good meal upstairs."

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. "No speeches?"

Dianne smiled. "No speeches!" So Bellamy joined Dianne, Julia, Nathan, and a few other heads of Department for an excellent lunch. There were no speeches.

Julia, in her role as head of the Auror Department, spoke about the trip to America, asking if he was happy with the choice of Katrina and Therese especially for Pat. Bellamy nodded, "No worries."

She laughed then. "You know you have descendants as Minister for Magic now in Sweden, Dianne here, Hamish Parker in America, plus a headmaster in America, a couple of teachers at Hogwarts, plus half a dozen aurors, plus I don't know how many others in various influential roles throughout wizardry!"

Bellamy grinned. "Well, it wasn't deliberate, but at least my enemies are no longer as likely to come from the Ministry!"

Julia started talking about that prison cell that had been intended for him when he was still young. "Would it have held you?" she asked.

Bellamy shook his head. "Not unless they kept me drugged, and you can't do that forever."

"Docility Potion?"

Bellamy hesitated. "I don't know. I was a lot younger then."

"From what we've been told, Fudge wanted to put you away before you knew too much."

Dianne was listening to the conversation, and remarked, "Our world would be very different if you'd been lost so young."

Bellamy checked his watch, and said, "They'll be waiting for me, I'd best get back."

Pat was excited about going to America, looking all around as she entered the Ministry building for the first time. She halted at a large painting in a corridor. Unlike most, this one didn't move, and she stopped and stared. It was a misty figure, leaning lonely against a wall. A horse grazed nearby. She checked the signature. Bellamy paused, waiting for her.

"Henry, I think this is you!"

Bellamy came and studied the painting, finally acknowledging, "It could be."

"We'd best go and check any more of Clare's exhibitions," Pat said. "We can't have paintings of this calibre being lost to us."

The large gathering at the Transport Bay included all the aurors whom Bellamy knew well by now, as well as Homer Stackpole, whom both he and Pat had met at Kitty's engagement party, and Katrina and Therese Abercrombie. Bellamy was shocked when he saw Therese, who now had a wicked scar across her face, just missing the eye. But Therese only laughed when she saw his shock, and said that Katrina was worse, just that the scars were not on her face. "Illegal dragon-keeping," she said, "And then he loosed them onto us."

Pat looked around at the aurors, most of them big, grim-faced men, with an air of self-confidence, and all of them wearing the black, badged cape that was the uniform. Ryde was also scarred. Stan's scar was faded, and half hidden behind a full beard. The nickname had stuck. He was called Scarface. One who'd tried to call Bruce 'Muggins,' however, wound up with a black eye, and in disgrace, along with Bruce, for brawling in the corridors.

On the aeroplane, later, Therese eavesdropped as Bellamy stated his opinion that only men like Ryde and Alexander should do dangerous things, and Pat rebuked him, saying that women were perfectly capable of fighting as well, and asked him accusingly whether she thought women inferior! Bellamy stuttered and fell quiet, and Therese smirked to herself.

There was still a small, pink painted hotel on the California beach, as there had been for over a century. It was quite close to Zefron School of Magic, and this was where they were based. For security, there were no other guests, except for a couple of aged permanent residents. The hotel was taken over by the wizards and witches, with Dieter reminding them every day that they were in a medj area, and had to be careful how they behaved, or dressed.

Like the others, Pat wore a cape over ordinary dress, and removed the cape when needed. The aurors liked to wear their uniform when possible, as it had a deterrent effect, both for potential attackers, and for aggressive American reporters, who tended to be worse mannered than their English counterparts. Their accommodation was secret, and to keep it secret, they always apparated to work. The work place was in a wizarding area, and for the first time, Pat saw crowds of witches and wizards pushing forward, trying for a better look at the great wizard. She flushed as she noticed how many were pointing at her, too, the new wife of the great wizard. Her husband was obviously accustomed to it, though she noticed him carefully scan the crowd, before turning his attention to Cindy who was pointing to where they were to work.

Cindy and Alexander stayed very close to Bellamy, and Therese and Katrina stayed very close to Pat. Further away from the group were more mostly large men, in flashy, scarlet capes, holding back the crowd.

"American aurors," said Katrina. "Americans always love to be seen."

A group of photographers were being spoken to by Bruce, who waved his wand over their cameras, making sure that they were, indeed, just cameras. Dieter passed on a request, but Bellamy shook his head. He wasn't posing for photos, and certainly not giving out autographs. Pat remembered when she hadn't believed that he was famous, and shook her head. He hadn't told her the half of it.

They passed a few very odd looking witches and wizards, although Pat was unable to see them very well, as two American aurors were in front of them, and Katrina, too, was between her and what had to be her husband's clients. Bellamy confirmed her supposition, when she turned questioning eyes to him. "They've got spells on them that the mediwizards couldn't undo. That's my work."

Dieter pointed Pat to a room adjacent to the workroom. "We can watch from here, and hear everything that's going on. But they can't hear us, and the wall is not as transparent from the other side."

"Why is that?" asked Pat.

"He's apt to get cross sometimes, when people watch. It's better if we're inconspicuous."

Pat smiled. They knew her husband.

More people were shown into the observation room, Adrian, with two professors from Zefron, and two elderly witches with the American Minister for Magic, who was a thin, sandy-haired man with glasses, introduced as Hamish Parker. "I'm his great grand-son," said the man, with a proud smirk. "My grandmother was his daughter, Victoria."

Pat shook his hand, saying, "It's very hard to believe sometimes, that he could be so old."

Hamish turned to watch the room, and they saw Graham take his seat at the desk and open his notebook. Bellamy came in and casually conjured himself a chair. Pat noticed that he used his wand. Dieter murmured in her ear, "He likes to use his wand when people are watching, because he thinks we might forget that he doesn't need it." Pat laughed. Cindy and Alexander took up places at the edges of the room.

Bellamy looked up, straight at Pat, and smiled. Pat lifted her hand, as she spoke to Dieter. "I thought you said he could hardly see us from his side."

Dieter shrugged and said, "Well, _I_ can hardly see from that side. Goodness knows what Bellamy can do!"

The first patient was led in. It was a child, looking perfectly normal, except very frightened, and holding tightly onto her mother's hand.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows at Graham. "Pig tail," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Bellamy, leaning against the wall, raised his wand slightly, non-threatening, and the little girl felt her own bottom.

"Gone?" said the mother. The little girl nodded, silent, still frightened. There was a timid thank you from the mother, and they were already being shown out by Ryde.

There was the usual procession then, deformities involving horns, tusks, more pig tails, sometimes faces that looked like that of a pig or a bat. Others seemed to be covered with inflamed boils, warts, or nasty looking abscesses. Once there was one who seemed to have prickles all over his body. It was very fast, Ryde showing in one patient after another, and just his forbidding appearance ensuring that few wanted to linger to thank the great wizard. "He likes a thank you letter, if you're grateful," Pat heard once, as Ryde ruthlessly cut off a rehearsed speech. There were always piles of thank you letters in the office, replied to by Alison with a form letter. She'd never seen her husband read any.

Pat and Dieter joined Bellamy, Graham, and a couple of the aurors for lunch, though the others in the observation room were led off to a different area. Most of them would be with them for dinner, though.

Bellamy leaned against a wall, coffee in hand. "Bored yet?" he asked Pat.

"Fascinated!" she said. "And witches and wizards do that to each other all the time! It's hard to believe."

Bellamy nodded. "We're a barbaric lot. Medjkind, on the whole, are a lot more civilised!"

Dieter and Ryde turned on him, Ryde spluttering in denial, and Dieter opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Even Katrina and Therese were looking shocked at his words. Graham grinned. He rather agreed with Bellamy in this case, and mentioned, "There's a dozen hospital cases this afternoon, and two pumpkin-heads to end the day, but they're six months old and probably dead, so we may very likely finish early."

Bellamy was watching Dieter in high amusement, and said goadingly, "I get into fistfights now and then, just for fun. And wizards think _that's_ barbaric!"

Dieter, with an effort, stifled his irritation, and only asked calmly, "Do you have any plans for afterward?"

Bellamy turned to Pat, "Swim?"

The ocean glinted blue and sparkling, a glimpse of it visible between buildings. Pat was hesitant. "I didn't bring my bathing suit."

Therese made a very good guess at the reason for her reluctance, and said that if Dieter allowed it, she and Katrina would be going in, and she needed a new swimsuit, too. "We'll ask Jane over there, where to go, I can apparate with you, and we'll both be set within the half hour. Probably back before work resumes here." Dieter nodded, and Pat agreed.

As promised, it didn't take long, and Pat was back as they wheeled in the second of the hospital patients, a pitiful object on a hospital trolley. She noticed that it took a little longer than usual. Her husband just stood, wand raised, and with a look of calm concentration on his face. Quite suddenly she felt a tingling in the air. She looked at Dieter, again beside her, who said, "It needed a bit more effort that time - sometimes, they do."

"Is that what he calls the strong magic," asked Hamish, leaning forward.

Dieter smiled, "You'll know when he needs that. I've seen it make an auror faint, even though he was standing over a hundred yards away!" At the general consternation, Dieter added, "That was exceptional, though, and he did warn us. Usually, it doesn't get anywhere near that strong." And Dieter smiled to himself, remembering how Bellamy had taken advantage of his keepers' dizziness, and gone off by himself for a drunken spree. It had done him good, too.

The same degree of magic was needed again for the next, and then another was wheeled in. They watched this one as Bellamy went close, and then touched his hand, dropping his head, even closing his eyes. He raised his wand, and again the tingling was felt in the air. Nothing happened.

"The strong magic?" Graham asked. Bellamy nodded, and he was meeting Pat's eyes again, through the glass that should have shown him only dark and indistinguishable figures. Cindy jumped to attention as he left the room, wishing he'd warn them when he was about to do that. But she was on his heels as he opened the door to the observers' room, and told Pat personally that there would be a frightening feeling in the air, and that she might prefer to go to the beach early, or go shopping, or something.

Pat smiled. "I'd rather watch."

Bellamy nodded, "Well, just leave for further away, if you don't like it. Dieter'll look after you." He nodded casually to the others, and left again.

Adrian remarked humorously, "I notice he didn't bother warning anyone else!"

Hamish was wondering how much face he'd lose if he left, and reluctantly decided to stay. And when the feeling of invisible power started resonating, he only clutched the sides of his seat very tightly, and waited. Pat, for some reason, felt it hardly more than the earlier tingling in the air, although she noticed Cindy quietly leaving the workroom, and a few minutes later, Jed replacing her.

The helpless creature on the hospital trolley was replaced by that of a witch, although unconscious. The feeling died from the air, and Bellamy waited, leaning against the wall again, as Graham and another mediwizard held sensor devices to the woman's arm and head.

"Is there any more magic on her, Bellamy," Graham asked him.

Bellamy held her hand again, feeling, and then closed his eyes, feeling her mind. "No more magic," he said doubtfully. "And she seems all right to me."

Graham and the other mediwizard conferred, and after a time, the witch was wheeled away.

The next hospital patients were very easy, and Ryde poked his head in, and said there was an afternoon tea if they wanted, before the last two. Bellamy nodded, and smiled as he saw the tempting array. Using the strong magic always made him hungry. Even that lesser degree of magic, felt by observers as a tingle in the air, seemed to have that effect. Graham noticed that he was eating more than usual, and thought he should do an extra check before he went swimming.

A message was passed. The unconscious woman who had needed the strong magic, seemed fine. Bellamy was relieved.

Pat stared, appalled, at the two man/vegetables that were now in the waiting room. But Bellamy just touched one's hand for a moment, and pronounced him dead, and stated that the other was alive and well, without a moment's hesitation, or need for contact.

The ambulance team waited just outside the workroom, and Cindy conjured a barrier, with the monster standing perfectly placidly behind it. Bellamy went close, looked unseeing at the floor, and concentrated. Pat, back in the observation room, with Dieter beside her, watched.

"These can be very dangerous," explained Dieter, calmly. "They often come out in a berserk rage, and then they go for Bellamy. That's why the barrier, and that's why you'll see him work for a while after they're apparently cured, trying to make them calm. It doesn't always work, which is why there are now three aurors, all with their wands at the ready."

The large patient became human, and seemed to Bellamy to be calm. Bellamy pulled back from his mind. After being so deep in concentration, it always took a few minutes to be fully alert. Abruptly the barrier vanished, and the large man took a swift step forward, and wrapped an arm around Bellamy's neck. Cindy stunned him before he could make the jerk that would have broken it. Bellamy was dropped, but pulled himself to a kneeling position, beginning to turn blue, holding his neck, and making a terrible, hoarse, rattling sound as he tried to breathe. Graham was already there, and a spell repaired the damage to his neck. Bellamy took a deep breath and lay flat, recovering.

"That's one reason why there's always a healer in attendance," said Dieter, calmly.

"I see," said Pat, not quite as calmly. The unconscious ex-pumpkin-head was wheeled out.

When Dieter led Pat back to the workroom to join her husband, Graham was smearing some lotion onto the bruised neck. Bellamy grinned sheepishly at his wife. "Sorry, love. I should have sent you away before I did a pumpkin-head."

Pat said, "He nearly killed you."

Bellamy looked warily at his wife, and Graham took the opportunity to pull out an assortment of monitors. "Would you just make sure the observers are gone, Dieter?" asked Graham. "I want to check Bellamy over more thoroughly, and I might as well do it here."

Dieter vanished, coming back only a moment later. "They're gone."

Bellamy was still looking apprehensively at his wife, and obliged when Graham asked him to remove his shirt. Pat watched him, though her gaze switched to Cindy, who was still in the room, and whose gaze was frankly admiring. Cindy looked the other way. Graham was grinning to himself. All it took to get Bellamy to cooperate was his wife's stern eye on him, and he took the opportunity to make a more thorough examination than Bellamy had allowed since his return.

When Graham finally packed away his things, and closed his notebook, Pat asked, "Is he all right?"

Graham nodded, "Fine. His throat might be a bit sore for a while."

Bellamy asked, "Swim?" and Pat nodded. Graham and Dieter were sure that they heard Bellamy heave a very deep sigh of relief.

Dieter asked Bellamy. "Was it accidental magic, do you think, or is there someone else in the world who can work deliberate magic without a wand?" But Bellamy had his arm around his wife, and was whispering something that made her look at him with a smile.

It was still only mid-afternoon, and it was only a short while later that Pat, with the twins, joined Bellamy with a couple of the aurors on the beach. Scott and Bruce were also in swimmers. Dieter said critically to Bruce that his fitness test was due shortly. Bruce looked down at his expanding middle, and said that he'd applied for a job in International Cooperation.

Bellamy was scanning the crowded beach carefully, an alert look in his eyes. Dieter watched, and both Alexander and Ryde were also close, and alert. Bellamy discernibly relaxed, and turned to greet the women, smiling. Pat noticed that the others took their cue from him, and although they didn't relax, they no longer looked as tense as they had a moment before. The three women had large towels wrapped around them. Bellamy had conjured Pat's towel as a special present for her. She wouldn't hurt his feelings by telling him that vivid violet, lime green and exuberant red was not a combination that everyone admired. The twins were giggling. Their own towels were colourful, but not like Pat's.

The towels were put down on the sand. As Therese had said, Katrina's scars were worse than her own, just not on her face. Her self confidence seemed unaffected as she walked down to the shoreline, in spite of terrible scarring over thighs, chest and upper arms, and a missing breast. Pat imitated her proud carriage, putting out of her mind that she was slightly stooped, far too tall, and had an awkward and ungraceful figure. The fact that her husband watched her with an obvious love and desire made her know that she was beautiful, just as he always said she was.

The women didn't swim long, returning to lie on the sand, sunbaking. "This is what happens when you get too close to a dragon," mentioned Katrina, indicating the flat side of her swimmers, although Pat hadn't asked.

Pat said, "I thought you must have had a mastectomy."

In unison, the twins asked, "What's a mastectomy?"

Pat explained, and the twins thought it barbaric, although Therese said that she'd heard that medj healers sometimes tried to heal with a knife.

Each of the twins had a child at home, left in the care of their husbands, so, inevitably, with Pat's pregnancy, the conversation strayed to childbirth.

"Pain?"

"Not with a competent healer," said Therese.

"Healer Esme Rutherford," Pat said. "Know her?"

"My best friend had her," said Katrina, "Said she was very good."

"I wonder how Henry will cope," said Pat, musingly.

"Best not to tell him about it until afterwards," advised Katrina. "We don't want him going to pieces again, do we?"

Pat turned over to do her back, wondering how much the aurors knew of Bellamy's years of confusion. She'd ask Bellamy later; she didn't want to ask the aurors.

Meantime, Bellamy and Scott started playing, laughing and calling, and ducking each other, and then combining to stalk Graham. Dieter, from the shore, watched with a grin. Pat and Fred were long retired, but he'd taken their advice, to include one or more young aurors in the team, so that Bellamy would have a playmate, 'of his own age,' Patrick had said laughingly. 'Keep him happy, and he won't get up to as much mischief,' explained Fred. And then Dieter had been entertained for the next hour with old stories of Bellamy routinely slipping his bodyguards, and getting into fistfights, or playing with women, not always one at a time. But it was perfectly obvious these days that Bellamy was very happy indeed, totally involved with his wife. And Dieter, like Caradoc, was developing a very real respect for Bellamy's wife.

Dieter continued to spend time with Pat, talking, explaining, and after a few days, discussing the dangers in which Bellamy lived. Pat was appalled to hear the size of the reward for his death, the word being that it was definitely still payable. Dieter concealed nothing from her, telling her even when one of the aged resident guests had been found with a gun in his hand, and acting under the Imperius Curse. "We didn't tell Bellamy," said Dieter casually. "It's our job to protect him, and we don't want him interfering." And when Bellamy noticed that Jed was missing, he was only told that he had a few days off.

But when Jed returned, he had a new badge on his cape, a small red one, that the twins, as well as Dieter, Stan and Ryde also wore. Pat noticed, and asked the twins what the badges meant. "Injured in the course of duty," Katrina said casually.

"Does it help?" Pat asked curiously.

Katrina laughed. "The badge itself doesn't, of course, but the honour, respect, and recognition definitely helps."

Therese touched the scar on her face. "We do a job that has to be done. It's a matter for pride, and if we get hurt or killed doing our job, that's a matter for pride, too."

"We'll have to give it up some time in the next few years," said Katrina, regretfully. "We're nearly forty, and not many aurors can maintain the fitness standards much past that."

"Then what?" Pat asked.

"A desk job in the Auror Department if one's available, or a transfer to a different department."

"You won't lose your jobs altogether, then?"

"Of course not! We're aurors!"

They moved bases to Charleston, in South Carolina, for the second week. Again they stayed at a small hotel, emptied of other guests for greater security, and again they apparated to work every day, in an endeavour to keep their accommodation quiet. Pat, Therese and Katrina now spent their days wandering the town, exploring and shopping, enjoying the beach, and often going to shows or other entertainments at night. Pat saw less of Dieter, and had to go to his room when she wanted to speak privately with him. Dieter opened his door the moment she knocked, wand in hand, but shirt off. She noticed that Dieter, too, bore scars.

The following day, it was Ryde in temporary charge of the aurors as Dieter and Pat went shopping together. Afterward, Pat regarded the eight long and heavy boxes in her room with some dismay. There was an even heavier square one, too. But Bellamy didn't query her when she said they were something that Caradoc wanted, and only sent them to Caradoc's place with a tap of his wand. Pat didn't tell him that she now carried a holstered handgun, snug against her hip. Dieter had put spells on it for her, so that it would not normally be noticed, and also to take away its weight. It was effectively very light to carry. It didn't take long for Bellamy to notice it, but after looking at her frowningly for a moment, he just hugged her, and said that, after all, witches and wizards were invariably armed with their wands.

From then on, Pat and Dieter spent two hours every day at a shooting range, while Pat practised with her new weapon. No-one else was told, not even the twins, who had become so friendly. Pat sometimes thought that, for the first time in her life, she had true women friends, but each time, she remembered that Katrina and Therese were only doing their jobs. She didn't have the confidence to think that anyone might like her for her own sake. She was sure that Dieter spent so much time with her only because it would help to protect the valuable property that was her husband.

An afternoon remained at Charleston, and then they were to go to New York. Pat watched again as Bellamy went about his work, although this time, she and Dieter merely stood in a corner of the large room, which made her feel exposed, unsafe. No-one saw any sign of her trepidation, and only Bellamy knew that she was not as calm as she looked. But the work was perfectly routine, except that a surprising number of the patients were quite magnificent specimens of black manhood.

"Stupid twits," said Bellamy calmly as he sipped coffee, afterwards. "Why on earth they won't just make duelling illegal, I'll never know." Dieter said nothing. He didn't want to get Bellamy started on his hobby horse.

The aurors were wearing their capes, Cindy, Dieter and Stan sitting with them, others on guard further back. Pat was in medj dress, and wore her gun, as she always did now, invisible under her clothing. "You have a different badge," remarked Pat to Cindy. "What's that one?"

Cindy touched the beautifully worked, embroidered badge on her auror's cape. "Baldo Auror Award," she said, trying to be casual, but not quite succeeding in hiding her pride.

Dieter said, "It's awarded when an auror risks their own life, in order to save a workmate." Cindy reddened slightly, as Dieter related the story of the incident that had earned her the award.

"Hasn't Bellamy got one?" asked Stan.

Bellamy shook his head, "When I came to get you and the others, all I risked was loss of sleep. Besides, I'm not an auror."

Pat said, "Alison showed me your awards once, and I'm sure I saw one like that."

Bellamy said, "You couldn't have. And nearly all of those are just because I can break spells. Meaningless, really."

"I remember seeing it."

***chapter end***


	44. Chapter 44

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 13_

The next hotel was a very large, and a very luxurious one in the heart of New York. There were many other guests, and Bellamy and his wife were more heavily protected than ever, never quite alone except in the privacy of their own suite, and even that was always checked before they entered.

"Don't you find it irksome sometimes, to be followed wherever you go?" Pat asked him the second evening.

"We'll dump them if you like," Bellamy said, "I'll just tell Dieter, so he doesn't worry - much, then we'll disapparate, and return when we've had a fling on our own."

"They say you're always in so much danger."

"I'm in hardly any danger in medj society, where no-one knows who I am."

Pat thought for a while, then nodded. Dieter was horrified, but Bellamy assured him they'd be back in the morning.

That night, Pat and Bellamy enjoyed an evening in a country town, some music at a rather loud pub, and a night without a guard at the door. For a change, there was no need for a silencing shield over the room when they made love. They were reluctant to leave in the morning, lying in bed together, as Bellamy traced a tender finger over Pat's abdomen, still almost flat. "We don't have to do this," he said. "We can always abandon the wizarding world, and simply live as Medjkind."

Pat raised herself on an elbow, and studied his face. Then she kissed him. "You love your world, and you love your home," and she smiled. "I rather like it myself, even if one is in a bit more danger than if one were ordinary."

When they joined the aurors for breakfast, there was an addition to the company. Don Alcott, the Coodinator of their trips, was there, and had apparently been entertaining the others with an old story of Bellamy coming to the rescue of himself and another auror, while wearing only a towel around his waist. Bellamy took a bit of teasing, as Pat watched, amused. She loved it when he blushed. Don walked awkwardly and used a cane, and he, too, had scars on his face.

Dianne and her husband, Charles Longbottom, were arriving later, and would be joining them in the evening. "There's to be a dinner," said Don. "But Madam Abercrombie says that she won't make you attend, and offers you a tray in your room."

Bellamy laughed, "Stale sandwiches, no doubt!" He turned to Pat. "Would you like to go to a tedious formal dinner, doubtless with speeches, and incredibly boring bureaucrats, all of whom will want to shake your hand, or would you like to go..." and he cast his eyes around at the listening aurors, "Somewhere else."

Pat laughed at him. "I like Dianne. I'll talk to her first, and then decide."

The result was that Bellamy's evening was spent trying to be polite to important people he mostly had little interest in. But Dianne had taken pity, and at least there were no speeches. It was Dianne's husband, Charles, who enlightened Pat about her husband's Baldo Auror's award - that he'd gone alone into a Dementor stronghold, brought three aurors out, but then spent over four months as their prisoner. When she asked Bellamy about it, though, he only looked blank. "I suppose they could have given me one," he said, "But I was very sick for a long time, and maybe they just didn't tell me."

He was obviously not very interested in talking about it, so Pat asked Therese instead. Therese said that it was long time ago, before she'd been born, but she was looking thoughtful. "You know, there's books about the great wizard, and his life and achievements. We can go to a bookshop tomorrow if you like, and buy some."

Pat agreed that she'd like that, and mentioned that Charles had been boasting that his great grandfather was the best friend of Bellamy while he was still at school. 'Neville Longbottom,' Charles had said, 'A great fighter, and the best friend of Bellamy, known then as Harry Potter.'

Meantime, Dieter and a few of the other aurors were discussing some gossip - that the new Italian Chief Auror was an incompetent - of filmstar good looks, but not very bright. He'd never even been an auror himself, but there were so few contenders for the position, he'd been appointed anyway. Also that a recovered pumpkin-head had firmly stated that it was Mussari, who'd cursed him. Dieter looked over at Bellamy speculatively when he heard that. But Bellamy had been working and under their eye when the man died. He couldn't possibly have had anything to do with it.

On the last day of work, Pat decided that she wanted to watch her husband work one more time. The crowds were larger than she'd seen previously - it seemed there were a lot of wizards in New York. In the large open square, there was a carnival atmosphere, with several stalls, some tinkly music playing, and food vendors calling for custom.

"See the stalls?" said Dieter. "Souvenirs of the visit of the great wizard."

Pat shook her head. The famous great wizard didn't seem to have much in common with the man she loved, who hated speeches, left his clothes on the floor, and adored bright colours and bucking horses.

They had to cross the square for lunch. Pat walked with her husband, feeling self-conscious as so many stared. Music suddenly blasted at them, and she felt his hand tighten suddenly, painfully, around her arm. She looked across at him. His step had briefly faltered and his face was suddenly pale. He'd even started to tremble slightly. But his expression was unmoved, and he continued to walk steadily.

The music abruptly silenced, and she heard a quiet sigh. He didn't notice that he hurt her, and when they arrived in a room where a generous lunch was laid, he only leaned against the wall for a while, in a casual pose, and pretended the attack of trembling was just that. He trembled sometimes. It meant nothing. Pat had several books in her suitcase, but planned to read them at home, when he was not there. Maybe that would tell her more about his reaction to the music.

Pat didn't tell Bellamy he'd hurt her, just went to Graham, who dabbed some lotion on the painful bruise, which very quickly healed. She said she hit it on a door. Graham said, "He was holding your arm when that music blasted, wasn't he?"

Pat nodded. "Don't tell him. He'd be upset if he knew he hurt me."

Two days later, the large group gathered to return home. Dianne was pleased with her talks with Parker, and there had been other business transacted, as well. Aurors stood around, uniformed, and very alert, but Bellamy had just cast a quick look around, and was talking to Don about future work. Don was in an ordinary cape, but Pat noted to herself that he wore both the Baldo Award and the small red badge.

Bellamy consulted her. "Don says I've got a week off now, but I was wondering whether to start doing only alternate weeks, or continue every week, and have long holidays whenever we want."

"Every week for now," said Pat, decisively.

Bellamy nodded at Don, "Every week for now."

Dieter was listening, surprised that it was Pat that appeared to be making the decisions. He commented quietly to Therese later, but Therese said, smiling, "It's a story told in the family - that he's always done exactly what his wives have told him."

"Pity he wouldn't take a bit more notice of his bodyguards," said Dieter, dryly.

***chapter end***


	45. Chapter 45

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 14_

They were tired when they arrived home, but Pat took Bellamy's hand, and led him past the swimming pool, to a new door. "It's a few days early, but happy birthday!" she said, as he looked, surprised, at the bubbling spa. "There's a lock on the door," she murmured, as she went to it. "Will I lock it?"

Bellamy nodded, and Pat came back to him, undressing him, slowly, caressing, before slipping off her own clothes and entering the hot, bubbling water. A spa is always much nicer when you don't have to wear clothes. But Bellamy had learned from Angelo. No sex in the spa, though close by was all right.

There were other changes that Bellamy noticed, but not until morning. After Pat went outside, he had a closer look at the high cabinets that were set in a half dozen different rooms. Two of them had rifles in. The magic on them was Archie's, he could tell, and the cabinets, and the rifles inside, were not supposed to be noticed. He opened one, and felt again. Bellamy was very good at feeling spells. He was satisfied. No child or stranger would be able to open these cabinets. Maybe they were right, he thought. He never wanted another of his employees to die for him.

He strolled outside then, immediately quickening his steps as he noticed three new horses in the paddock that held the riding horses. Peter was home from school for the summer holidays, and was with Archie and Victor, leaning against the fence of the paddock.

Archie turned to him. "Like the spa?"

"Love it," said Bellamy, enthusiastically, and spent five minutes saying just how wonderful it was.

"Pat specified a lockable door," said Archie, his eyes twinkling. Bellamy quickly asked about the new horses.

"General defence principles," said Archie. "We should have enough horses that anyone who wants, can ride. It gets you across the property quicker, if needed. Peter was just trying to decide which he wanted."

Bellamy greeted the tall stripling, and discussed the horses.

"They're all yours, of course, Boss," said Peter. "Five-year-olds. Paul sold fewer than usual this year, and Dad said I could choose one if that's all right with you."

"Of course," said Bellamy. "I don't even know these horses," and he ducked under the fence and whistled. Two black mares, one with a slash of white across her rump, raised their heads from the grass, and looked at him. A bay gelding trotted straight across and nuzzled him. Bellamy went from one to the other, talking to the new animals, until Jester nudged them aside, baring his teeth at the bay. The new horses retreated.

"Pat's with Caradoc," said Archie. "It'd be a good time to go for a long ride, if you'd like to join Peter and me."

So while Caradoc and Pat were in deep discussion about new rifles, defence training, and the advisability of allowing the pony club to continue using the property, Archie, Peter and the boss cantered their tall horses across the moors. Peter was on the black mare with the odd slash of white on her rump. 'Shasta,' he called her.

Two hours later, Pat sat with Sybil on a garden seat, and rose to her feet as three horses turned into the drive, and then raced as hard as they could around the perimeter track. Shasta was in the lead, Jester not far behind, and Archie's bay trailed. She frowned at Bellamy. He'd obviously been off the property, and was conspicuous because of his long hair, and because he used no saddle or bridle, though there were reins attached to Jester's halter. In the spa that evening, she told him that from now on, whenever he went off the property, he should saddle his horse properly, in order not to stand out. Also, that on Monday, she'd like him to have his hair cut. Bellamy looked at her in surprise and said that she was probably right.

Monday, Bellamy found Ursula, and asked if he could take Margaret with him when he want to town. Margaret always loved going with him, and Bellamy had the skill of apparating with a passenger. It was not a common skill, but aurors could all do it, and Archie had also learned. None of the others could, though.

Margaret looked at his appearance after the haircut with some disapproval. He looked far too ordinary now for her liking. But he sat with her afterward, and they had an ice-cream each, and Bellamy listened as Margaret told him about Pam and Bess at school. "We don't play with _boys,_ of course," she said, but had to add that Ricardo thought she was beautiful and wanted to go steady. Bellamy looked at the serious eight-year-old. She was not going to be beautiful in a conventional sense, but she had a lot of character.

In August, the Pony Club again had their gymkhana at Bellamy's place. Caradoc and Pat had decided between them that the occasional use reduced any possible mystery which might arouse curiosity. When consulted, Bellamy was pleased, "They had fairy floss last year!" And the Saturday of the gymkhana, he and Margaret spent a part of the day eating fairy floss and watching children steering their ponies toward small jumps in the optimistic hope that they could get over without falling off.

During the next months, Pat and Victor became more skilled with the rifles, and Pat continued to practise with the handgun. Even at home, she carried it.

She decided that, after all, she would learn to ride a horse. It was not for pleasure, but because, she, too, thought that they were potentially useful for defence. But Victor looked at the precious wife of the boss, now showing her pregnancy, and organised to buy a couple of sedate, middle-aged ponies, 14hh, not much taller than Margaret's grey pony. With Pat's height, she could swing herself on the back of one of these ponies, without any need for saddles, and at a moment's notice. Once she was confident, a hitching rail was built, close to the door of the house, and there was always either Toby or Jedda left there, although not saddled. Margaret often left her pony there, too. She was still not close to Pat, but was beginning to imitate what she did.

The day that Bellamy returned and found three ponies hitched to the railings, he asked Pat if she didn't think she was going just a bit too far. But Pat smiled. "I know a lot of your history, now, and I don't think you would ever have survived if you'd not been very, very cautious for a lot of years."

Bellamy grinned sheepishly, and said maybe not. Pat had been trying to keep her recent reading away from her eyes, but he'd seen the pile of books in her portion of the library. Bellamy knew most of what went on around him. He knew that all the rifle cabinets now had loaded rifles in them, and knew now what had been in those heavy boxes he'd sent to Caradoc at Pat's request.

Beth arrived, and spent a few weeks with them as autumn started. She smiled to herself at the developments in the relationship between Bellamy and his wife. They were so happy together, and she was amused at the way Pat organised him. Julie had appeared to organise him too, but she knew that it was only on the surface. With Pat, she wasn't sure how far it went, but he'd certainly never taken as many safety precautions in his own home before. She even watched a drill once, when an alarm sounded, Pat swung a leg over Jedda and raced straight across to the other side of the property, to confront a pretend intruder. Beth wasn't quite sure that she altogether approved. Pregnant ladies were supposed to be coddled, not act as if they were the chief defender of the home.

Old Caradoc watched from his comfortable chair on the front porch, and young Margaret spent the rest of the day trying to do the same as Pat, but finding it far more difficult than the tall woman.

There was an early spell of bitterly cold weather, but for two hours every day, whenever Margaret and Bellamy were not around, most of the staff were at defence practice. Archie usually presided, as Caradoc preferred a warm fire, or a hot spa to soothe his aches, rather than exposing his old bones to a biting wind.

It made Beth think, a bit. Should she herself take a few more precautions? Her island home was precious to her, but hardly any of the islanders came to her for help any more, and sometimes she felt a distinct hostility. Beth now lived again in the small home where she'd lived with her first, and only true husband, Jeremiah. The home was a mile or so away from the village, close to the beach, and with a beautiful garden, overgrown now that she'd lost her magic. Beth seldom went out any more, too heavy to walk far, but she had a devoted helper who went into the village for groceries whenever needed, and her other needs were few.

Bellamy asked her about the possibility of her coming to live with them, remembering what Kate had said, months before. Beth looked at the window, rattling with the hail that hit it, and said, as she had before, that Noonga Tuku was her home, that it was where Jeremiah was buried, and also, it never hailed! Beth could know the minds of those around her, to a far greater degree than anyone else. And Beth had such a wisdom. Bellamy trusted his daughter to know what she needed.

Pat was still well, carrying the baby easily, and was happy to agree when Bellamy asked whether she'd come when he did three weeks in three different countries of South America. He could have apparated home each night, but thought the Ministry didn't know his range, and he liked to think he had some secrets left. Besides, time differences were a problem. It was easier if he had his wife with him.

Through the first three weeks in October, Bellamy worked Brazil, Argentina, and Mexico, and Pat came to know the aurors almost as well as Bellamy. One evening, at dinner, Alexander was talking about his son, Kupec. "A Gryffindor prefect," he said, inadequately hiding his pride.

Bellamy was surprised. "You must have started early to have a son that age!"

"I married Tilsa when we were both just nineteen," Alexander said, and added, "The best thing I ever did." His pride in his wife and son were obvious.

"Is your son as black as you?" asked Bellamy.

Alexander grinned. "Yes, and big, too. Dieter told me you said you liked big, black men - you said you liked Kingsley, Jebedee, and even Nathan-who-carries-a-knife! But we never could work out why you said that Nathan carried a knife."

Pat looked questioningly at Bellamy, but Bellamy shook his head. "He's telling tales - I was drunk."

Katrina mentioned that her son was only about a year older than Kupec, and Therese's son was almost the same age.

"Didn't I hear that Tristan was a prefect, too?" Bellamy asked Katrina.

Katrina nodded, "Slytherin prefect."

Bellamy concealed his surprise. Not many of his descendants were Slytherins.

Therese turned the subject. "My son, Hugo, is always in so much trouble that no-one in their right minds would make him a prefect!"

"Have I met him?" asked Bellamy curiously.

Therese shook her head. "You were long gone when he was born, but he's redheaded, green eyed, and developing into a very big man." She smiled, fondly, "He's got a wonderful sense of humour."

"Tristan?" asked Bellamy.

Katrina answered, "Average size, dark hair, almost black eyes." It was a purely physical description.

"Wizarding families always seem to have so few children," commented Pat.

Graham said, "It's why we stay such a small minority, so many have just one child, and a lot never even marry."

"Any particular reason?"

Graham shrugged. "I don't think so. My wife and I had no children. She didn't want any."

"What about your family, Henry?" asked Pat.

Bellamy answered, "Ginny had three children to me, one to her first husband, and was pregnant again when she died. But Luna only had one, and Julie and I only had one, too."

"You've got a big family now, though."

Bellamy smiled. "My daughter, Margaret, had nine, and that's where most of the Abercrombies and Davenports come from."

Pat had a lot of time to explore while her husband worked. She was always accompanied by Therese and Katrina. The three women fended off an attack one afternoon, though it was not an attack that had anything to do with wizardry. The four potential kidnappers were left, three stunned and with boils, one with a bullet hole in his right wrist. Pat suggested they keep it quiet, but the twins said they'd have to tell Dieter. It was that night that Pat talked to her husband about hiring the twins as live-in security guards if they were agreeable, and if he decided he could trust the twins' husbands. Bellamy was a sociable creature - he enjoyed having a lot of people around, and he very much liked Katrina and Therese. He hadn't missed the fact that Pat had become very friendly with them, too, having finally lost her mistrust of their motives.

There was an opportunity for Bellamy and Pat to meet the girls' husbands at a small dinner party just the following week. Jack Smith and Barry Ridgecombe met the approval of Bellamy, and he gave Pat the nod. Therese was very interested, but Katrina was hesitant, and, at last, said that they'd let them know.

A week later, they put the alternative proposition to Bellamy, that they were happy to do it, but not live-in. Their families would not be told where he lived. Bellamy smiled, delighted, and started to give them the apparation coordinates, but Therese said they already knew. Bellamy frowned at them, and suddenly reddened. It was ten years ago, and he'd forgotten that they'd kept an eye on him for a while - a lot like guards in fact.

***chapter end***


	46. Chapter 46

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 15_

Pat's pregnancy was advancing, and at the end of October, she consulted Healer Esme Rutherford for the first time. Bellamy knew Esme to be the grand-daughter of Healer Catherine Rutherford, whom he'd been very fond of. He thoroughly approved of Esme, now aged in her mid forties, and as stern-looking as her grandmother, but, he suspected, with the same compassion when needed.

Pat reported to her husband afterward. "She said sometime between Christmas and New Year probably, and she'll start calling in every week from the beginning of December, or earlier if I want. She says everything's fine, and I can go with you for your next few trips if I want to."

"Spain, Greece and France next," said Bellamy, smiling. "And you know I love to have you along."

She touched his face. "How about you ask for a couple of months holiday after that. You can help look after the baby when it comes."

Bellamy hugged her, delighted, and called in to see Don the next morning before work. Don thought it fair enough, he'd been working non-stop for several months now, but suggested every Thursday at the Ministry building, for the local cases, and for any overseas ones not wanting to wait.

"Sure," said Bellamy, "But give me a free week between. If Pat says different, I'll get back to you."

Don looked amused, and Bellamy was happy for him to be amused. He was never so content as when he had a wife to love. And it pleased him to be bossed around. He was a man who could probably destroy cities with a glance if he chose, and it was rather nice that someone loved him enough that she would boss him around anyway.

Pat knew the Ministry corridors now, and walked freely, not yet encumbered by the child, carrying it easily on her tall frame. She was still fascinated by the painting of her husband, looking so lonely on what must have been a wet day. Clare had told her - it was the day that Julie said she was leaving. Pat thought that if she'd been his wife then, she would never have done that to him. Twenty-five years he'd been away, and most of those, she knew, he'd been wandering in confusion. He'd told her so little of those years. She wanted to know what he'd been like, and she wanted to know how he'd finally managed to throw it off. But she didn't ask. One day, he might tell her. She wanted him to tell her. Right now, she knew, he was still embarrassed about it.

Therese and Katrina were with Pat in Spain, and in Greece. They were nice places to stay, and Pat amused herself buying baby clothes, and toys, disregarding the fact that there were baby clothes, children's clothes, and numerous toys already in the house. There'd been Adam, Margaret, Victoria, James, Beth and Adrian all grow up in that home, not counting the various children of the employees. And each night, she'd cuddle close to her husband, and he'd cuddle close to her, feeling with delight when the hard tummy of her, moved of itself. It was an active child. It was a joy and a delight.

The last week, they were in France. Katrina and Therese were no longer with them. Their resignation had come into effect, and they were having a couple of weeks holiday before starting work at Harry's place. The idea was that one or other of them would be close to Pat as much as possible, protecting her and protecting the child. At nights, there would be Archie, Ursula, and Kitty and her new husband, Sidney, who had their living quarters in the staff area of the house. Alison still came in for the day only, and Sidney went to his job in London every day.

On the Wednesday, Pat woke with a dragging feeling of fatigue. She supposed it was no wonder, as she was nearly eight months pregnant. She thought she shouldn't be worried, but while Bellamy whistled tunelessly, still in the shower, she slipped off to Graham's room. Graham had a couple of monitors that he didn't normally carry, and had even had a word with Esme. He was able to reassure her that there was no problem, and mentioned that a lot of women felt tired when pregnant. He congratulated her on being so well. Pat smiled with relief, and was back in the room before Bellamy noticed she was gone.

She decided to just stay around the hotel for a while, reading and resting, and only join the team later in the day. She still liked to watch sometimes, relieved that it had never again been as exciting as on the first occasion she'd watched, when her husband had been nearly killed. Dieter just nodded when she told him, and said that Homer would stay with her. Ryde and Stan were there, too, but they were covering nights, and would be resting. Cindy, of the lightning reactions, was pregnant herself, and no longer worked as an auror. Alexander and Scott would be with Bellamy, as well as Dieter.

She'd once asked Dieter if so many were really needed, but he said that the auror department was grossly overstaffed these days, and he could have as many as he wanted. A larger team was a bit unwieldy, though, and the French were always helpful, providing a large number of additional aurors to keep away the crowds and photographers.

Pat felt a lot better as the day wore on, and tossed on her cape with anticipation. Homer was an impressive looking man of thirty, with a mane of thick black hair, and a considerable beard. Pat felt very safe, walking with his escort through Paris. They turned into a grubby lane, and Homer tapped his wand against a piece of crumbling wall. An archway appeared, and Homer and Pat entered the wizarding area. There were not the staring crowds there had been in America, and no souvenir stalls. But there were some people waiting and watching, and there were a dozen French aurors scattered around the square. It seemed they too, liked to be seen, and their capes were bright green with a royal blue border.

Dieter, she saw, was talking to one of the French aurors, probably the one in charge. Scott was in the waiting room, and smiled at her. "Just a couple to go before afternoon tea. I expect that Bellamy'll want an ice-cream again, so you might as well wait there." He pointed to an ice-cream place, where white, lacy chairs were set around tables in the sunshine. It may have been sunny, but it was November, and cold. Pat knew it wouldn't stop her husband wanting an ice-cream, when the place was so close at hand.

Homer indicated a particular table setting, next to a wall. "I think Bellamy learned to sit with his back to the wall before he even entered his teens!" he said. There were a few people at other tables, and a green caped wizard was standing next to the shop owner, who was stout, rosy faced, and wore a broad smile.

Homer said, "He had two ice-creams here Monday, two yesterday, and I expect he'll want one now, and another after work again today."

Pat laughed. "I've heard he persuades his big, tough aurors to sit beside him and have ice-creams, too."

The big, tough auror beside her grinned, "I'm planning to. He hasn't been able to persuade Dieter yet, though."

There was a stir around them, and Pat looked to where Bellamy worked. A witch had just emerged, Scott talking to her. Pat knew what he'd be saying. 'Just send him a letter if you want to thank him. He always answers if you just send him a letter.'

They always told them that, and thank you letters were always politely answered - with a form letter sent by Alison.

Bellamy and Alexander emerged then, big Alexander making Bellamy look frankly small. They were laughing together, feeling well protected with so many of the French aurors so conspicuous around. Bellamy cast a sweeping glance around all the same, before discovering his wife waiting at the ice-cream shop.

"Graham's still fiddling with his notes," he said. "But you'll have an ice-cream won't you, love?" he asked her.

But Pat's stomach turned over at the thought, and she said that she wouldn't be having one - she felt a bit queasy.

Bellamy didn't argue, just bought himself, Scott, Homer and Alexander ice-creams, as Alexander stood at his back, watching behind in the automatic action of a bodyguard.

Bellamy was perfectly obviously relishing the double ice-cream he was eating. Pat shook her head. How he never got tired of the treat, she didn't know. Alexander was eating his own, but watching Bellamy with almost the same indulgent smile that Pat wore. There was a French auror close. The shop owner wore a bright smile and wiped the counter with an automatic action.

Homer moaned, and looked up suddenly, pale and sweating. "Christ," he breathed, and pulled himself to his feet, before clutching his stomach, and falling, followed by Alexander, crashing to the ground, and taking two chairs with him. Scott just slumped forward over the table, and Bellamy clutched his own middle, the colour draining from his face.

But Bellamy looked up, and as green Death Curses shot toward them, there was suddenly a shield all around the five of them. The French auror who stood next to Dieter found irresistible instructions in his brain, triggered by the disturbance, and he stunned his colleague. Dieter was out of the action. Pat was on her feet and had her gun aimed at a wizard who was very close, and sending Death Curse after Death Curse at Bellamy.

Alexander and Homer writhed in agony on the ground, vomiting. Redheaded Scott hadn't moved.

"Can I shoot through the shield?" Pat was asking Bellamy, urgently.

Bellamy concentrated further, and the shield was modified.

"Can I shoot through the shield?" Pat repeated.

Bellamy said faintly, "Yes."

Carefully, Pat took aim, and killed the wizard who shot spells at them.

"Don't kill them," muttered Bellamy. "Just stop them," and Bellamy was being sick now, too, falling onto the ground. The semi-transparent shield observably faltered. They were surrounded by green caped wizards, all of them hurling spells. White-faced, flat on the ground, Bellamy kept his eyes open and held the shield.

Pat was being effective. A wizard was hit in the shoulder, and staggered away, then another and another. They were hurt, but not enough, and some were again trying to break through the barrier. One had blood streaming from his arm, and yet picked up a chair and beat it repeatedly against the barrier. Frighteningly, it seemed to be yielding at his blows. Pat used her last two bullets carefully, aiming at the stomach, surely enough to stop the attackers, but not killing. She had no spare ammunition. And there were no bodyguards left able to help.

Pat knelt by her husband. "You have to be strong," she urged. "Hold the shield."

She squeezed his hand, and Bellamy tried very hard to be strong. But again the shield faltered as he vomited. He lay down his head on the paving, but he still had his eyes open, and the shield resisted the spells, and then the physical attacks, as wizards beat against it with their fists.

"Stay with me," Bellamy said faintly. "I can be strong if only you stay with me." So Pat knelt beside him and held his hand. He was so white.

Alexander close by, vomited yet again, shuddered, and was still, eyes open but glazing. Five green caped wizards surrounded them, all of them with oddly blank eyes, all of them trying with magic and with physical force, to break through the shield and get to the great wizard, who lay flat on the ground with his pregnant wife giving strength.

The shield shrank, closer to them, but still surrounding the group. A wizard, teeth bared, was only two feet from Bellamy. The spell was hurled, straight at his face. The Death Curse vanished as it hit the shield. Another was aiming at Pat. If they could kill the wife, they could kill Bellamy. Pat aimed her empty pistol in threat, but the attackers were entranced and took no notice.

In the workroom, Graham lay stunned on the floor. Three who had been observing were also stunned. But no-one had thought of stunning waiting patients, and many of those waiting patients were fighters who had paid the cost of losing a duel. The green-caped wizards were concentrating on attacking the group, now flinging themselves at the shield, again and again, striving to break through. Their brains were ringing with the instruction. The great wizard had to die.

The great wizard drew his strength from his wife, and endured. He was no longer seeing well. But Pat sat beside him and told him to hold the shield. Bellamy held the shield. Scott stirred and moaned. He was getting better. Homer had his eyes shut, and lay still, but he too, was beginning to get better. Alexander would never get better.

From behind, the green caped aurors were being brought down. The witch whom Scott had told to send a thank you letter, now accounted for three of the attackers. Two young wizards, quite obviously ones not yet seen by Bellamy, accounted for the last two. One lay dead, shot by Pat early on. Some were badly injured, and yet, even now, battling to get at the great wizard. Three wizards watched from a distance. There was still a chance.

Four more green caped aurors appeared, and approached with an air of purpose and efficiency. One went methodically to those wounded, but conscious, pointed her wand, and said the counter-curse. The Imperius Curse was lifted. The wounded ones no longer fought to kill.

A green caped wizard was close to Pat, talking to her. He was telling her to get Bellamy to drop the shield, but he spoke in French. Bellamy had his teeth bared in concentration. He could no longer see, and didn't hear the words being shouted at him.

"Hold the shield," Pat said calmly, and Bellamy held the shield.

It was not until Graham was revived, and Stan and Ryde arrived from the hotel, that Pat squeezed the hand of Bellamy, and told him they were safe now, and he could drop the shield. Even then, she had to repeat it three times. The shield was dropped and Bellamy fainted.

An antidote was given to Scott and to Homer, who were beginning to throw off the effects of the poison in any case. But Graham had a lot more trouble getting it into Bellamy, who was now deeply unconscious. Again it was Pat's calm voice, insisting that he must wake up and drink the potion, that brought results.

He woke hours later, in his bed in the hotel room. Graham had said it was exhaustion as well as the after-effects of the poison. Pat was beside him, but Graham was with Homer, who was still quite ill, though recovering. In answer to the question from his wife, Bellamy said that he was all right now. He was quiet, counting off his friends who tried to protect him.

"Alexander," he said. "Did Alexander die?"

"I'm afraid so," said Pat.

"Dieter?"

"Missing."

Bellamy pulled himself slowly to his feet and staggered to the bathroom, a cane suddenly in his left hand. He always had problems walking a straight line when ill or over-tired. Pat went to the door, where Ryde and Stan both guarded. "He's recovering. You can tell Graham."

Bellamy was showering, and when Graham came back, he was sitting in a conjured chair, one of his own high-backed easy chairs in a design which he'd perfected at the age of seventeen. It was best for concentration. He was impatient with Graham. He said he didn't have time now, he had to find Dieter.

Pat said calmly that a few minutes delay wouldn't hurt, and Bellamy thrust out his hand for Graham to use the sensor. "You're in no state to go searching," Graham said definitely. "Even the LV measure is way down."

Bellamy said that he was undoubtedly quite correct. He wouldn't leave the room. Graham was suspicious at the quick capitulation, but left anyway. He had to see to his two other patients.

Pat was looking suspiciously at Bellamy, too. "He's almost certainly in deep trouble," said Bellamy. "I shouldn't apparate, but I can search in my mind. I just need to concentrate."

Pat took his hand, he squeezed it, and told her, "You realise you probably saved all our lives back there. I couldn't have done anything without you - not that I did much!"

Pat kissed him. "Go ahead, then. I won't interrupt."

Bellamy leaned his head back against the high back of his chair, and closed his eyes. Pat watched her husband. He was still so pale, and yet he was attempting a feat so terribly few in the world could do.

Bellamy knew Dieter, and found him easily. He was in his mind, but Dieter was no longer master of his own mind. An aged wizard sat before him, wand raised, and issued instructions. Dieter sat, held under the spell, as the instructions seeped into his brain. He was to return, pretend to have escaped, and then, while Bellamy lay asleep, he would remember his instructions, and kill.

Bellamy listened. It was very easy, as the old wizard who spoke to Dieter was close, and talking direct to his mind. Bellamy only stunned him, and just for good measure, gave him a lifetime of boils. He would probably have killed, but Dieter might know. The instructions were removed. It was basically hypnosis laced with magic. But Bellamy knew minds, and Bellamy, if he chose, could even modify minds. He did not modify Dieter's mind, only removed the dangerous hypnotic suggestion.

Dieter, sat, tied in his chair, trying to work out what had happened. Bellamy spoke to him, nearly, for some reason, calling him Franz again. _It's Bellamy. Tell me what you see._

Dieter jumped, and started to speak. _In your mind,_ Bellamy said, _They shouldn't know I'm talking to you_.

Dieter showed him the picture of two wizards bending over the old one, confused at his sudden collapse. There was another in the room, as well.

Bellamy was unsure what to do. He was quite unfit to apparate, and he yet had no contact with the minds of those others, to render them harmless. And if one fell, then they might easily kill Dieter. Already, a suspicious glance was coming Dieter's way.

He had to risk it. _Talk to them,_ he instructed Dieter.

Dieter spoke to them, and one came across to him, and swiped him hard across the face. Dieter looked very hard at him, and Bellamy found he could now make the jump from the mind of his friend, to the mind of his enemy.

The man turned to the other two, and instructed, "Breton, see if you can get a healer. Biet, you'd best go with him."

The two men nodded, and left the room. The remaining man took out his wand, making Dieter tense, sure that he was about to die, but the man only vanished the ropes that tied him to the chair, and handed him his wand. Unbelieving, Dieter took the wand, and stunned the man in front of him.

"Bellamy?" he asked aloud.

_I can't help you any more_, thought Bellamy to him. _You'd best just apparate out of there_. And Dieter felt his acute exhaustion.

Dieter was a very competent auror, and now he had a wand. When he returned to the hotel, it was carrying an unconscious prisoner, and then three more were also taken.

But Bellamy just put himself to bed, curled up, and went to sleep. When Graham took his next measurements, he didn't stir. Graham was concerned. The readings were worse than before, when they should have been getting better.

Pat agreed when he said that he would put a sensor around his wrist so that he could keep a check through the night, and Graham watched as the low, low readings began to improve. Pat just curled up around her man, and slept with him. He could do incredible things, this man, her husband, and he needed her.

There was a lot of activity in the French Ministry building that evening. Several of the French aurors had to be treated for bullet injuries, and then questioned, and witnesses, and then the prisoners, were also questioned. Dieter said very little about what had happened, even when Julia, the head of the Auror Department arrived, together with an extra half dozen English aurors.

Dieter wanted to speak to Bellamy before he told anyone what he'd done. He now strongly suspected that Bellamy had unlawfully killed Mussari. But for the night, he was left to sleep, only Graham waking every couple of hours to check the monitor, and make sure he was recovering. Homer and Scott were feeling very drained, but they'd be fine. Pat appeared in the morning for breakfast, and was able to say that her husband seemed all right, just that he'd not yet woken. Graham, also at breakfast, just nodded, tiredly.

Dieter walked with Pat back to their room after breakfast, and Pat held the door open for him. She knew that Bellamy had done something last night, that had resulted in Dieter's return, but her husband hadn't said anything much at all, just stumbled into bed and sunk into a very deep sleep.

Dieter walked to the bed and regarded the great wizard as he slept. He lay curled on his side, his cheek was cradled in a hand, and he looked very young, innocent, even defenceless.

Pat watched Dieter. He looked so thoughtful, frowning at her husband until she became anxious. "Dieter?" she questioned.

Dieter looked at her, the tall woman, very pregnant. She had killed yesterday, in the defence of her husband. Dieter looked back at Bellamy. Executions were unlawful, and aurors were supposed to uphold the law. Dieter weighed the scales, and knew that he would never say anything about Mussari. He'd consult with Bellamy, but he suspected that Bellamy's intervention the previous evening might best be kept quiet, too, even if it did mean that he, Dieter, took more than his just share of the credit for the arrest of four wizards.

Late morning, Bellamy woke, confused at first, when bright sunlight streamed in the window. Pat sat in the chair he'd conjured the previous evening, deep involved in a book. She looked perfectly peaceful, her only movement an absent-minded rubbing of her rounded tummy as the little one caused her some discomfort.

"I nearly got you killed," said Bellamy, quietly. "I did get Alexander killed."

Pat rose, put down her book, and kissed him. "Have your shower, I'll organise a breakfast here, and then Dieter wants to talk to you."

Refreshed, dressed, and hungrily eating breakfast, Bellamy agreed with gratitude that his part in Dieter's return was best forgotten. And he heard the thought, too, that Mussari would be forgotten. Dieter was frowning at him again. His abilities were frightening. If he chose, this man could kill anyone, it seemed, anywhere, without leaving the room, though maybe he might have to have some link with them. Something came into his mind. "You let yourself be whipped once."

Pat's surprised stare switched from Dieter to Bellamy.

Bellamy sipped his coffee, and he was frowning, too He finally said, "I don't remember what led up to it. I just remember that I suddenly knew I'd done the wrong thing, so I gave the farmer back his whip."

"You gave the farmer _back_ his whip?" asked Dieter in blank astonishment.

Bellamy shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

"What doyou know, Dieter?" asked Pat, curiously.

"I know it was an absolutely brutal flogging, he was found in a ditch, was in hospital for a bit, and was about to be sent to an institution where they routinely used shock treatment, when he vanished."

Pat was astounded. "Shock treatment went out in the last century!"

Dieter nodded grimly. "Is it any wonder we tried to find him?"

Pat looked back at her husband. He was no longer eating, staring out the window and looking uncomfortable. Pat rose, and Dieter took the hint and left the room. Pat started talking about the new aurors that had arrived. "A real variety," she said. "Heather looks the epitome of the dizzy blonde and Otis looks more like Frankenstein's monster."

He met some of them later, gathered in a large sitting room, with Julia and a middle-aged French woman. A bright green cape with a blue border was arranged neatly over the back of a couch, although Julia still wore her own uniform cape. Suspiciously, Bellamy felt the surface of the strange woman's mind, but Julia only introduced him to Isabella Pompidou, the head of the French aurors.

She told him, "It appears it was the Imperius spell, harder than usual to detect, as the instructions only came into effect once you and as many bodyguards as possible, were disabled by the poisoning."

"I've almost always known when my food's been poisoned before."

"It's probable you missed this time because the actual ice-cream was harmless. But when it came into contact with stomach acid, it started changing. That's why the delayed effect."

"Alexander's dead," said Bellamy, in a bleak voice.

Julia said, "The funeral's next Wednesday, if you want to come." It was in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone.

Madam Pompidou asked briskly, "Can you finish the work?"

Bellamy regarded her gravely. "How many aurors did you lose?"

"Only one, and several injured, but none that won't get better."

Bellamy got to the point, "Is it worth having me around? Maybe it would be better if I sink out of sight again."

Julia looked at Isabella. She'd been afraid of this. With rare exceptions, Bellamy always became friendly with his bodyguards. Isabella said, "Two of the wizards waiting for a cure went to your help. You can't fail them now. There are many others. You are very much wanted."

Bellamy nodded glumly. "This afternoon?"

Julia said, "Graham says tomorrow - you're to have the day off."

Bellamy still looked pale and tired, and when he saw Homer, he looked as bad.

He apologised to Scott and to Homer at lunch, saying that he should have known. The pair looked at each other, and Homer said, "You've got it wrong. _We're_ supposed to look after _you._ You don't have to look after us."

Dieter said seriously, "You're not responsible for everything. And Alexander died doing his job. It is a matter for pride when an auror gives his life."

Bellamy's memory of the poisoning was flavoured with the acute pain he'd been suffering himself, but he had a vague memory of Alexander writhing on the ground, and vomiting. It had not been a dignified death. Would he have been proud to die that way?

Isabella herself walked with Bellamy the following day. Otis and Jed were close, and green and black caped figures stood around as well. The ice-cream shop was closed. "The owner's still in shock," said Isabella. "He was under the same Imperius command as the others, but the poor man's not accustomed to poisoning his customers."

Bellamy half-smiled, "Tell him I'll want a free ice-cream, as soon as he decides to come back."

That afternoon, an anxious, round man, whose face was accustomed to smile, gave him his free ice-cream. None of the aurors fancied ice-cream that day. Later, poor Benji looked at the painted sign he'd been preparing, 'Ice-creams as enjoyed by the great wizard.' He pointed his wand, muttered the word, and the sign vanished.

***chapter end***


	47. Chapter 47

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 16_

The trip to France had already been planned as the last for a time, so there was no hindrance to Bellamy attending the funeral. The weather turned bitter, and Pat was tired and chose not to attend. But Bellamy watched the sombre procession, the coffin borne by six caped aurors, and more ranked side by side along the route. A full auror's funeral was very impressive, and maybe Alexander would have been proud, but his wife who followed the coffin, and the big youth beside her, had still lost a husband and a father.

Even now, surrounded by aurors, there was one especially rostered to be by the side of Bellamy, for his protection.

The formalities finished, and while others relaxed and the atmosphere lightened, Bellamy stared into the distance, and looked bleak. Alexander had died because he had failed. Julia had to speak to him twice before he acknowledged her. Julia would like to see him in her office, eleven in the morning. Bellamy nodded mechanically, "Eleven."

There were some smiles when the great wizard appeared in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic the following day. He was the great wizard, and wore old jeans and a very ordinary shirt. He had a jacket, so he might have had his wand, though they knew that sometimes it was forgotten. No other witch or wizard ever forgot their wand.

Dieter was waiting for him, but left him at Julia's office. He didn't know what it was about, but had shared his concerns. Bellamy should not feel responsible just because an auror died.

"Sit down," Julia said, as Bellamy entered the large room that was the office. A beautifully polished desk filled up a portion of the space. It had a burn mark that Bellamy remembered had been there for many, many years. Locked away in the desk was a file that Julia had been looking at. This file was not kept with all the others. The head of department always took care of it personally. Julia didn't quite know how to start, and Bellamy just waited.

Bellamy had looked just the same for so long. Julia reminded him, "You were Professor Potter, remember, when I started school?"

Bellamy smiled. "Gryffindor. You were friendly with Tom."

Julia nodded. "It was your greatest achievement about that time, though it took a while."

Bellamy creased his forehead. What had he done about that time?

Julia smiled. "One day, I was a muggle-born, occasionally even called mud-blood, or worse, and then I was simply of perfectly honourable medj parentage. It didn't happen in a day, of course, but I'd never have got to this position with that former attitude still current."

Bellamy grinned. "I had to pay a big fine, once. I was before a Disciplinary Committee, and threw a tantrum because they thought muggle-baiting a very minor crime. They fined me for disrespect."

Julia was curious. That hadn't been in the file. "What did you do?"

Bellamy looked out the window, and scratched his nose, "I um - There was a rapist. I castrated him."

Julia gave a peal of laughter. "No wonder you were in trouble!"

Bellamy was looking sheepish. "It seemed to me the obvious thing to do. I haven't done it since, though."

Julia was looking more thoughtful. "When Tom died, you were very upset, and nearly just walked away."

Bellamy looked uncomfortably out the window.

Julia continued. "Dieter says you feel yourself responsible for Alexander's death."

Bellamy stated the fact as he saw it. "It was only because of me that he died."

Julia rose. "Come with me."

Bellamy hadn't been in the aurors' offices for a very long time. There were only three aurors there, most of them having previously had instructions to make themselves scarce. The ranks of desks seemed to stretch a long way. Without comment, Julia led him to the end of the room, and then turned and waited.

Bellamy said, "There has to be at least twice as many desks, and presumably aurors, as I've ever known."

Julia nodded, satisfied. "There is a basic problem that occurs again and again when people, especially young men, have the ability to work magic. They feel themselves too powerful, especially among Medjkind, and sometimes it goes to their heads. Aurors help in two ways. One is the obvious, they try and uphold the law, and the second is that the profession carries sufficient prestige that potentially dangerous wizards are often deflected into becoming aurors themselves, rather than going the other way."

Bellamy looked at the ranks of desks. "So many?"

"While you were away, the department was expanded again and again, and still we couldn't keep control. We needed you. While you're around, even if you never directly intervene in crime prevention yourself, dark wizards just don't raise their heads too far."

Bellamy was silent, and Julia started walking slowly, back through the centre aisle. "That's Vilhelm's desk. He was crippled with a combination of spells. You cured him the first day you started work in Sweden." She turned to him, "You remember those few weeks in Sweden?"

Bellamy nodded, and she wondered just how much he did remember. She pointed again. "Adler wasn't crippled, but he certainly looks better without bat ears!"

A few more steps. "That's Evan's desk. They still call him Ginger. He's in charge of the trainees, now, as his health didn't recover from the Tulloch family's little hobby."

Bellamy remarked, "There's so _many_ desks."

Julia said, "We're very much over-staffed now, and there's currently a considerable number of excess aurors working in other departments. Now you're back, we just don't need the numbers."

She stopped again, and pointed, "There, there and there. That's a grouping of aurors who used to be pumpkin-heads. You cured those, and eleven others when we brought you back from Australia."

Bellamy's forehead creased. He wasn't sure if he remembered that.

Julia asked, "Do you remember defeating Spectra McFiddan?"

Bellamy nodded.

"She's a nasty piece," Julia said calmly. "She's got a lot of enemies - all female, though. She certainly must know a few good tricks!" They were back nearly to the door. "Out of the aurors who've looked after you, we've only lost Keith and Alexander."

"Keith?" asked Bellamy, shocked.

"Someone thought he was the great wizard, because he looked like a great wizard _should_ look." And she regarded Bellamy's very ordinary appearance with a smile. "I can see how you escaped notice living among Medjkind." She pointed. "Tea-room next."

Obediently, Bellamy followed her lead.

The tea-room was empty. Conspicuous on the end wall, was a portrait. Clare was the artist, and it showed head and shoulders of Bellamy. He was shown in a faded shirt, and it appeared that his hair was tied back. White showed in his hair. He wasn't wearing glasses. The eyes looked into nowhere, and showed a depth of pain that few knew. It gave a feeling of an intense loneliness, and even a vulnerability.

"The aurors heard about it, tracked it down, and combined to buy it." Julia said. "That was several years ago. Even when you seemed to be lost and confused, you were still valued."

Bellamy looked at the portrait, and said nothing. Did they really value him that much, even though he was the cause of deaths?

Julia smiled. "I was in Medj Affairs then, but there was a lot of laughter the day after. The aurors had money left over, and used it for supplies for a party. Their department was wrecked. It seems there were steeple chases, from desk, across the partition to the next desk, all up and down the room."

Bellamy laughed. "I'd have loved to see that!"

"There were a few fist fights, too."

Bellamy protested, "I've never seen an auror yet who didn't look down his nose at me when I've done that!"

"Well, Biff and Redge got out their wands, and squared up, and someone, I don't know who, said that the great wizard prefers muggle fistfights. So that's what they did, and then there were a few more bouts. The cleaners in the morning found the mess, with a few aurors, including Biff and Redge, still asleep on the floor. Ted Laurie was furious!"

Julia thought she was doing well. Bellamy's face was alight with his enjoyment of the tale. "We're just going to the canteen next, and I'll buy you coffee and a cake." said Julia, and nodded to Bob. The aurors could go back to their desks now, and use their tea-room again. There was nothing special arranged in the canteen. Julia just wanted Bellamy to remember a place he was probably familiar with from the past. And when he smiled at the woman pouring his coffee, called her by name, and asked about her daughter, Julia thought her strategy a good one.

At the perfectly ordinary table, afterward, in the perfectly ordinary staff canteen, Bellamy regarded Julia with a glint of humour. In front of him was a generous sized piece of apple pie. "My favourite Minister for Magic ever, was a woman called Barbara Bancroft. Whenever she wanted something from me, she served up a very generous morning or afternoon tea. You could have saved your careful stratagems - just give me something good to eat, and I'll probably do exactly as you want!"

Julia laughed. "All I want is for you to stay around. You can have your holiday, and enjoy your baby when it comes, but stay around." And she reached forward, and took both his hands. "Put up with the bodyguards. They are needed, and if one now and then gets hurt, it is small in the overall balance of things."

Bellamy looked down. Even in the overall balance of things, he couldn't think of big Alexander as small. He'd take more care next time, maybe even put aside some of his reluctance to probe minds. If he'd looked into the mind of Benji, he would have felt the spell on him. But he looked back at Julia, who still looked anxious. "I'll stay around, and put up with my bodyguards," and he looked around at a small gathering next to the door, "Unless, of course, they presume to give me orders!"

_**x**_

Esme Rutherford started visiting every week at the start of December, as she'd promised. Pat was very well, and looking forward to the birth, still carrying the babe easily on her tall frame, although she no longer practised galloping a pony to the other side of the property at a moment's notice. She was slowing down, and spent a lot of time reading in front of the fire. There was the spa, too, often shared with the old people, Sybil, Clare, and especially Caradoc. They found it wonderful for easing aching bones. But Caradoc said quite definitely to Pat one day, that in the evenings, it was for the exclusive use of Bellamy and Pat. He smiled benignly at her. "So if you have a need to lock the door then, no-one will know." Pat thanked him, seriously. She and Bellamy quite often found a need to lock the door in the evening.

Bellamy was a lot more active than Pat. He had opened up his old workshop, and was very involved in working on a better designed leixtrium. He thought that there had to be an answer to their interminable problems of faltering grestles. It was one place that Margaret was definitely not allowed to go, though he showed Pat one day. His inventions had provided most of his income in his younger years, although now his wealth had grown sufficiently that his investments were wide-ranging. Alison had told her once, leaving Pat feeling a touch dazed. She knew that Bellamy himself, had little idea of the extent of his wealth.

Curiously, Pat asked her husband whether they paid taxes.

"I think so," said Bellamy, with surprise. "Alison does all that."

So Pat asked Alison. "Oh, yes," said Alison, "Although some of it has to be in the form of anonymous donations, in order not to raise questions. Bellamy's even paid death duties twice, when he's decided it's best to assume a younger identity."

Bellamy enjoyed the company of Margaret, and quite often found Ursula or Archie to ask if it was all right to take the little girl riding, or into town. He tried taking her visiting with him, but when she disgraced herself by having a screaming battle with a ten year old Malfoy boy, he desisted. Margaret's manners were not altogether to be trusted.

But he was alone when he went to visit Connor Maguire and his wife. His horse was properly saddled and bridled, and he'd chosen to ride the bay gelding, as Jester's unusual markings were apt to draw attention. Connor's daughter happened to be with her father when she saw him through the window. "Do you know anyone who rides a bay horse, and has the sloppiest seat in the saddle I've ever seen?"

Connor joined her at the window. Bellamy's back was slouched, and his stirrups very long. Connor grinned. His daughter hadn't seen the sloppy rider sticking like glue to a bucking, playing horse, and laughing as he did so.

Bellamy formally met Connor's daughter, and stayed a while, talking and gossiping about the local people. Pat was very well, he was able to tell his old friend, expecting the baby in a few weeks. It was only when the daughter left that Connor asked about Adrian. A son of over seventy might be a little hard to explain. He didn't mention to his daughter that Bellamy was the owner of the property that was used by the Pony Club. It was better if she continued dealing only with Archie.

On Bellamy's return, he found Esme with Pat, choosing a bedroom for when she came to stay. "Usually about ten days for a first baby," Esme said, "And unless there's a shock or something, we always have a very good idea when to expect labour - to within a day or two."

Pat smiled. She liked and trusted Esme, but Bellamy was beginning to find her irritating. She always shot him such piercingly curious looks.

Pat found him a while later, perched on the edge of Alison's desk, reading a letter. On the table in the corner were neatly stacked piles of correspondence. Pat regarded them. "Can I have a look?" she asked.

Bellamy nodded, still reading his letter. Thank you letters, invitations, many of them answered by Alison without even consulting Bellamy; - she knew how he hated formal affairs, though it seemed that secretaries of organisations felt he should always be invited anyway. Bills, of course - an estate with staff was expensive to run.

Pat picked up a letter from a much smaller pile, and Alison frowned and glanced at her boss. But Pat only laughed at the naive letter from a teenage girl, offering to allow Bellamy to be her very first lover.

Bellamy glanced up at the sudden spurt of laughter, and grinned. "I deal with all those Thursdays, after the spell-breaking."

Alison was horrified and swore to Pat that he never did at all, that they were just answered with another form letter indicating that he had no interest in young girls.

Alison handed Pat an unopened letter. Pat still liked opening her own mail, though she was getting more every day, it seemed, especially after a story of her defending her husband in France, was in the paper. There was an impressive illustration of her kneeling beside him, and calmly aiming her gun at the distorted face of an attacker. It must have been from someone's memory, possibly embroidered, as there had been no photographers close. But this was a request to be the honoured guest at next year's Pluravista.

"What's a Pluravista?" she asked.

"They're vile formal affairs with about three hours of speeches," said Bellamy.

Alison said, a touch severely, "It's where recently graduated witches and wizards are presented to an honoured guest. It's their introduction to the adult world, and always held in early August. There are a few formalities, but it's a very special occasion, and the youngsters would be thrilled to have you as the honoured guest."

Pat looked from Alison to her husband, and pocketed the invitation. "I might think about it."

Pat was being treated with a great deal of respect after the newspaper report. There were a few young and attractive women who sneered, and even made up to Bellamy when they socialised. But Bellamy seldom seemed to notice, except that once an attractive girl found she had to cancel a date because of a sudden rash of pimples. She stayed away from the great wizard after that.

Another time there was a very determined young woman, who made herself a real nuisance. She had black hair, looked Asian, and spoke English with a slight accent. Two of the bodyguards wound up throwing her out, especially when the hostess of the party denied all knowledge of the exotic looking woman.

Spectra McFiddan was much in evidence at all the pre-Christmas celebrations, and Bellamy, like all the men, enjoyed her wit. She was so brazen, so totally unashamed of her actions, past and present. But she seduced one husband too many, and was found dead, her beautiful face now covered with warts. Her funeral was large, but no husbands dared go, and there was not a single woman. There were suspicions, but no proof, and maybe it was just coincidence that Lucretia Malfoy and her husband had gone abroad.

Spectra had never married, and there were no children.

A room had been set up by Pat as a nursery, but it was Bellamy that was always fussing with it, wanting to add decorations, too many of them in the bright red-orange colour that he adored. The furniture was from the store-room, that seemed to have more areas in it than could possibly be shown on any house plan, although he told Pat she could have all new things, if she wanted, of course. "Julie had to have new things," Bellamy said, "She always liked new, and preferably expensive. I'm probably lucky she didn't want gold-plated!"

He spoke fondly, and Pat smiled. She was not jealous of those women who'd gone before her. From what Bellamy had said, they were all so different, but Pat knew that he'd loved them all. He told her that he used to see them a lot when he was sick, but now it was like they'd gone further away.

Young Peter came home for the Christmas holidays, and Bellamy found company when he exercised in the gymnasium, or swam his laps in the pool. There was a light sprinkling of snow a few days before Christmas, but Peter and Bellamy went for a long ride on the moors. It was not very slippery, in the bitter cold, and they raced back. Jester was fast, but Shasta was very fast indeed, and won the race.

Peter still had every intention of staying on to look after the great wizard when he left school. Margaret seemed willing to share the boss, but it seemed that she might have changed her mind about letting him have 'Mrs. Boss,' as Pat often found that the girl was close by whenever she walked outside. Once she slipped on some frosty grass, and Margaret was instantly by her side, ready to help her up, and telling her bossily to sit down for a moment until she felt better. Pat was amused, and put up with the attention. Margaret, as usual now, was adorned with a small backpack, that contained a red-haired doll.

Margaret viewed herself as an important part of the defence team that protected the property, and Caradoc had given her a device that would send sparks or make a siren sound, to draw attention in case of attack. She handled it responsibly, and made no false alarms. Therese and Katrina started playing their part as additional protection, devising their own hours, not being predictable, and working in with Archie. Sidney and Kitty, living in the house, were an additional protection. When Pat went off the property, she always had an escort, as she could be vulnerable to being taken as a hostage. Bellamy nearly always declined an escort.

At Hogwarts, at this time, Tristan Ridgecombe, Slytherin prefect, and son of Katrina, mentioned that his mother acted as security guard for the great wizard.

"Really!" said another of the seventh years. Slytherin prefects had a room to themselves, and Tristan liked to show off by inviting in his friends, who were supposed to feel privileged.

Vincent Fabiano said, "Do you know what the reward is for his death?"

Tristan named the figure without hesitation. He knew.

The third seventeen-year-old mentioned that it seemed a bit strange, as he would have expected the aurors to have been able to work out who was to pay the reward long ago. But Tristan knew a bit about this, too. "It's already just waiting, and the gold is surrounded by enchantments. Only the wizard or wizards responsible for the death can find it. But it's already there, waiting."

"How do you know it's already there? Maybe it's just a con!"

There were four teenagers in the room. The fourth was a blonde youth with a sneering caste to his countenance. Almost in unison, the three others turned to Haslett Malfoy. Calmly, and speaking with authority, Malfoy said, "It's there all right. And I reckon the four of us could take him if we knew where he lived, or where he was expected."

"When he's spell-breaking?" said Fabiano.

Malfoy shook his head. "He's far too well protected then."

Tristan Ridgecombe said casually, "Even divided among four, the reward's enough to set us up for life."

Malfoy's eyes went to him consideringly, but he said nothing further, and the talk drifted to talk of the girls in their year. After ten minutes something else relevant was mentioned. "That poison that he took in France, I reckon Hortense Smythe might be brainy enough to make something like that..."

An amount of money was mentioned. The reward, divided into five.

Two days later, Hortense Smythe was given a key to Ridgecombe's room. It was one of the few places in the castle private enough to brew a poison. Malfoy had provided the recipe, but it would take over a month to make. It was the same poison that had been so nearly successful in France. The poison was disabling, but seldom lethal. Additional action would be needed to cause death.

A blood oath was sworn. The five would share, whoever, or how ever many actually managed the deed. Hortense stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas, and added ingredients, stirred, raised and lowered temperatures as required. She was top student in Potions.

Whenever the five were together, plans were turned over and over among them. "We'll just keep going until we kill him," said the one who'd been accustomed to refer to him as 'Grandfather Harry.'

***chapter end***


	48. Chapter 48

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 17_

Connor Maguire died suddenly, his funeral two days before Christmas. Bellamy attended, with Adrian beside him. Adrian and Connor were age-mates, had been great friends when young, and had kept in touch all their lives. Bellamy was stronger now, and accepted the death perfectly calmly, though it would have been hard for him once. It was a different funeral service than he was accustomed to, with less showy ceremonial than the usual wizard funeral. But there was a lot that was the same.

The baby was due in about five days, according to Esme, who would be coming to stay on Boxing Day. But already, Bellamy was restless and nervous. Pat watched him pacing with amusement. The snow had gone, but it was wet and miserable outside.

"Go visit someone," she finally told him. Bellamy looked up with relief. Of course, he'd do some visiting. It was time he saw Fred and Patrick again. Gareth too. And there were two new babies in his family. He hoped the mothers would let him have a hold.

Once he was gone, Pat told Archie, and Archie called Peter to practise some defence spells. He thought they didn't do nearly enough of that at school. Margaret watched closely, and afterward told her father that he had to give her a wand for Christmas so she could stun a sheep, too. Her father replied that she was only a child, and couldn't have a wand until she was eleven. Margaret's screams of fury at this denial had Caradoc hurrying out of his warm home, in worry that it was an attack. But it was only the little red-head giving uninhibited vent to her anger. Caradoc smiled to himself. All that child had to do was scream at a potential attacker, and they'd probably beat a retreat!

Christmas came, and was celebrated with good food, warmth, and decorations gaudy enough to satisfy even Bellamy's tastes.

Boxing Day, and Esme Rutherford took up residence. Pat thought her husband was being a little silly. When she talked to him, he was able to say that witches were always very well looked after when they had babies. His wives had experienced no problems at all. But he was nervy, and she noticed that he was having far more trembling attacks than he usually did. By now, she knew very well that while an attack or two a day were normal for him, he would also tremble when agitated for some reason, whether or not he pretended he was perfectly calm.

She thought about the problem, and arrangements were made. He only needed to be away a few hours. A message to attend to cure a non-existent pumpkin-head would do the trick.

Esme concurred. The great wizard was known to be high strung. She didn't want him making a nuisance of himself. Events didn't go quite to plan.

Early the following afternoon, Bellamy finished a series of tests on the modified leixtrium. He'd cured the problem of faltering grestles, but it had developed three other problems, all rather worse. He was beginning to think of abandoning the original concept, and starting work on something else to do the same job. It would take some thought. He came back into the empty lounge room, and sat in a chair, still looking at something in his own mind. Automatically, he picked up a book that lay on the coffee table. The uninformative title, _'A Medical Biography.'_ He read the name of the editor, still without paying any attention. And then he read, _'With the help of the notes of Healer Granger, Healer Weasley, and Healer Breedon.'_

His attention was caught, and he re-read that part three times, before turning slowly to the introduction.

His roar of fury, and the crash as he hurled the book at the fire-place brought Pat hurrying, Esme with her.

"What?" asked Pat bewildered.

Bellamy was spluttering about invasion of privacy, and killing Breedon. Esme looked at the book, and went and picked it up from the floor where it lay. Perfectly calmly, she used her wand, said _"__Reparo,"_ and the broken-backed book was as good as new. "Breedon is long dead," she said, "It's too late to kill him now."

Her level tones were in contrast to Bellamy's shouting. Bellamy took a little more control of himself, but his look was icy. "How did you get hold of confidential medical records?"

"It's no longer confidential if it's on the open market," argued Esme, still calmly.

Bellamy said furiously, "I gave Hermione permission to publish only after my death."

Esme said, "It was published five years after you left. I suppose someone thought it safe enough." And then, raising Bellamy's ire a touch further, she added, "I found it very interesting."

Bellamy spluttered at her, still furious, and then whirled and vanished, as he disapparated to find a place to walk off his anger.

Esme smiled at Pat, who was looking distressed. "We won't need a fake pumpkin-head now, we've probably got a few hours before he cools down."

"He was so angry!" said Pat. "I've never seen him lose his temper like that!"

"He'll forget his temper when he comes home to find a new son or daughter," said Esme, soothingly.

"That book - did you plan on him finding it?" asked Pat.

"No, it was purely accidental - but good timing!"

Pat smiled. "Is it really going to be born soon?"

"Soon!" said Esme. "The babe decides when it's time, but the spells are now starting to take effect."

"There's no pain," said Pat.

Esme touched her hand. "If a patient of mine says Ouch, then I count it a failure."

Bellamy was striding along the streets of London, still furious. So anyone who wanted to know all about his various past illnesses and his current abnormalities, could just buy a book! He hated the thought so much that he had none to spare for Pat or the baby that was due in about three days, as he'd been told. For a little while, he was tempted by the thought of seeking a fight, because he felt like hitting someone, but decided that he was too angry - he wasn't safe.

After a long time, he sat down on a garden seat in a park. It was very cold, and no-one was about. A very thin, scarred mongrel dog sat and watched from a distance. Slowly, it crept closer, flattening itself on the ground when it saw that it had been noticed. Bellamy said softly, "Hello." The dog flattened itself a little more, and slowly, tentatively, wagged its tail.

Bellamy apparated straight into the kitchen, skinny dog in his arms, and made Kitty jump, although the two house-elves didn't turn a hair.

"Food for him," said Bellamy. "He's half starved, poor thing."

Kitty wrinkled her nose at the smell of wet and dirty dog, but provided it with a bowl of food. She hoped Bellamy wouldn't want her to feed it in her clean kitchen every day. But then she looked at Bellamy, and smiled. "It's a little girl!"

Bellamy stared, abandoned the dog, and strode quickly toward his bedroom. The dog looked after him, but gulped down the rest of his meal before following. He'd learned in the course of the last couple of years never to take his eyes off any food that came his way.

Kitty opened the intervening doors for him. If the boss wanted the smelly animal, he could have it in his own area of the house.

"Pat?" he said.

Pat was lying in bed, long body curled around a tiny bundle. Esme watched from a chair in a corner of the warm room, a children's book about dolphins on her knee. She always stayed close for a few hours after the birth, just to make sure that nothing went wrong.

Pat smiled at her husband. Her plain, strong-boned face had a deep beauty of serenity and contentment. "A little girl," she said.

Bellamy gave her a tender kiss, and asked if he could hold the baby. A chair moved itself very close to where Pat lay, and Bellamy gathered the tiny bundle in his arms, and sat close to his wife. The dark eyes of the tiny baby blinked at him. She looked like she knew everything that had ever occurred in the world. Pat watched her husband as he looked at his daughter, and she reached out and touched his face. She suspected he hadn't noticed his own tears.

Esme quietly rose, and left the room, finding a skinny dog pressed against the door. Esme wrinkled her nose, got out her wand, ignored the automatic cringe from the dog, and made a cleaning and deodorising spell. The dog pricked its ears, and touched its nose to its own shoulder. Esme told it to come closer, and made a thorough examination, before healing the cut on the shoulder. One of its paws was injured, as well.

Very quietly, Esme went back into the bedroom to pick up her bag. The little tableau was unchanged. Pat still watched with a tender smile, as her husband's tears ran. Esme's own eyes glistened in sympathy, though she'd presided at many a birth. But she had it from her own mother, who'd had it from her mother - older people were more emotional, and Bellamy was very old.

The dog had many sore spots, many bruises. Esme smeared on lotions, and caressed his soft ears, one of them quite ragged. A spell made sure her own hands were clean again, but she went and washed with soap and warm water as well. Like Bellamy, she never felt quite as clean if one just used magic, and no water.

But it was time to make another thorough check of her patient, and she knocked gently this time. She had to interrupt. Bellamy wiped away his tears, and smiled at the healer. "Thank you," he said.

Esme said sternly, "Well, I've cleaned up your dog, but you have to leave me with Pat for a few minutes while I check her over."

"Dog?" asked Pat.

There was a yowling from the next room, and Bellamy and Esme went to check. It was Pat's cat, glaring and yowling at the strange dog, fur raised. The dog just looked embarrassed. Esme suggested calmly that Bellamy take the baby and the dog, and introduce them around. She would look after Pat.

So the proud father, holding the most beautiful baby in the world, displayed her proudly to Margaret, to the older Barnes, to the house-elves, to Kitty and Sidney whom he found snuggling in a hidden corner, and then tramped across the thin layer of snow to show the old ones, Caradoc, Sybil, and Clare.

The dog trotted close to his heels, and left a yellow puddle in a bit of snow. He'd been a house dog once, and knew that he shouldn't leave puddles inside.

When Bellamy returned and peeped into his bedroom, Esme said that Pat was to sleep for a little, and herself took the tiny girl, and tucked it into bed with her mother. Pat wrapped an arm around the baby, without even opening her eyes. She still wore that aura of uttermost beauty.

Esme was quite sure that Bellamy had totally forgotten his earlier tantrum, but nevertheless, _'A Medical Biography'_ was kept right out of his sight from then on. She read it through again, though. It really was very interesting.

The baby was called Susan, after Pat's mother. The dog was called Xander, after big, black Alexander, although the dog was middle sized, and light brown. He was devoted to Bellamy, and was at his heels whenever possible. Pat's cat no longer hissed at him, and he made friends with the other dogs around. He looked very dubiously at the horses, as he'd never seen one before, but an old instinct made a resurgence, and he showed a desire to round up sheep, although he'd never seen a sheep before, either.

Pat was as active as ever almost straightaway. She said that everyone should have witch healers in attendance when they gave birth, but Bellamy told her a story of one who'd tried it recently in an American country town. There had been several happy medj mothers, but then a baby had died, which can happen, experienced healer or not. The healer was charged with malpractice, but was murdered before she faced legal action.

Esme was still in residence, but didn't seem needed, as Pat's confidence in mothering seemed to have arrived automatically with her baby. Bellamy thought Esme was wonderful now - all it took was for Esme to say at reasonably frequent intervals that Susan was the most beautiful baby she'd ever helped deliver. Bellamy would beam. Of course, she was!

Bellamy and Pat were invited to several New Years Eve Parties, including a very large affair put on by the Finch-Fletchleys who had now started calling themselves Abercrombie-Finch-Fletchleys. A polite thank you was sent for each invitation, but for security, and as people now expected, Bellamy didn't say whether he'd be going or not.

There was one from the Malfoys, too. Haslett thought the wealth and prestige of their ancient family of pure-bred wizards might just bring Bellamy, who was, after all, of impure blood himself. He didn't say his parents were away. But Bellamy received invitations almost routinely that were traps, and only had Alison send the routine acknowledgment and thanks, with no indication of whether he'd be there or not.

_**x**_

On the night of twenty-ninth December, Bellamy woke with a jolt. Still stark naked, the great wizard answered the frantic telepathic cry for help of his daughter, Beth. He appeared in her bedroom, just in time to see the fall of the heavy club that took her life.

Beth was dead. Six islanders in her bedroom, most of them with clubs, several bloodstained. Their faces were sweaty, frightened, determined, as they continued to beat the dead body in the bed.

Bellamy gave a shriek of rage and grief. The islanders fell, paralysed. Their bodies were swept to the side as if with a gust of wind, as Bellamy went to the side of his daughter, and touched the bloodied face, tenderly. He caressed her face, and her grimace of pain and fear faded, to be replaced by that customary expression of compassion and serenity that was her hallmark. The blood vanished. He touched over her eyes, and they closed.

More islanders appeared at the door, but fought to escape as Bellamy turned to them. The old forehead scar had blazed into life, as it did sometimes when he fought. A sound began, a great roaring in the atmosphere, almost a scream, like that of a tornado. The attackers tumbled away in front of him, more of the black ones who called themselves warriors, were paralysed. One threw a spear, but the great wizard was surrounded with a glow of sheer power, and the spear fell away from him.

Bellamy walked out the door of the little house that had been Beth's. Two ran before him. Others that had been outside, scattered. And then he just stood a moment, looking in the direction of the village, where men ran to fetch spears, and women and children emerged from houses. The roaring in the atmosphere grew louder and higher pitched. The palms all around should have been leaning to the ground, but there was no wind. An eerie light replaced the darkness of tropical night.

The naked man started walking the track to the village, pausing at each house as he passed. A brief check to make sure it was empty, and the house exploded in flame. One by one, through the village of the island home that had turned on his daughter. Groups of men hurled spears at him. They fell away before connecting.

The great wizard scarcely seemed to notice their presence, just went on methodically destroying the village. He came to a house, but paused as a frantic mother ran inside to grab her baby. He had some mercy, the baby plus three pigs, a bitch and her pups were allowed to escape before the home became a raging inferno.

On to the next one. And the next and the next. At the far end of the village, a frantic knocking disturbed the priest, and he pulled on his clothes. One of the nuns was already up, standing at the door of the small hospital, and looking in the direction of the fires.

"There," said Hutupaea, the black warrior, pointing at the figure that approached.

The priest looked. He could see it was a white man, but it was like a glow surrounded him. The last house before the mission went up in flames, and the devil came toward his church. Bravely, the priest held tight to his crucifix, and went to confront the man.

Bellamy saw him through a red mist of fury. It was the preaching of this man that had resulted in the bludgeoning to death of a wise and compassionate woman. The non-existent tornado howled.

"My church. Please don't destroy my church," the priest said.

Bellamy's voice shook with his fury. "Your church and your preaching destroyed my daughter. Your religion says _Let not the witch live!_ The witch was my daughter, and now she is dead."

He took a step toward the priest, who tried very hard not to retreat. The priest saw that he trembled, and for the first time, noticed he was naked.

Bellamy turned his face to the church. Two nuns stood in the doorway. The doorway frame started to run with flame, enough to frighten. As soon as the nuns were clear, the howling of the non-existent wind increased a little more, and the church exploded into flame, followed by the living quarters of priest, workers and nuns. The only building left standing was the hospital.

"There is a man with a broken leg, plus two malaria cases," said the priest, desperately.

Bellamy looked at the building, and then his gaze searched the surroundings. As he turned back, more spears were hurled, but fell to the ground before connecting. One of the nuns went to the side of the priest. "I guess I've been proven wrong," said Father O'Flaherty, shakily. "Magic does exist."

While the wizard destroyed the village, others tried to go to the help of the black warriors who lay paralysed, only their eyes moving, terror-stricken, beseeching. But the borders of the property were protected. Beth was undisturbed. A brown woman sat close, patient. She was Celia, who'd looked after Beth for many years. She wore a crucifix, had been baptised, but in the crisis, it was to Beth that she was loyal.

Bellamy went back to his daughter, and sat beside her as the sun rose. It was dawn.

Huddles of black warriors stood around, not too close. A priest watched, too. Bellamy paced the borders of the property. Every two yards, a wooden pole appeared. None who lived on Noonga Tuku would be able to cross that open barrier. He noticed Celia, whom he knew. "You may come," he said.

Celia rose from her seat, and went to the woman whom she had idolised. Bellamy frowned at the fallen warriors all around. Their eyes watched whenever he came close. He returned to the house, where Celia tenderly touched the face of her mistress. "Is the god, Noonga, still where he always was?" he asked Celia.

Celia nodded, "No-one goes there now, we're all good Christians."

Six men were piled, uncomfortably, in the corner of the room. They vanished, as Bellamy's glance touched them. He went outside again. Eight more men vanished, and the property was clean. There was a buzz of terror from the watchers outside. He took no notice. There was no longer a howling in the atmosphere, and the morning was sunny.

He selected a spot in the deepest and most overgrown part of her garden. Beth would lie in her own home. Somewhere on Noonga Tuku, her first husband, Jeremiah, was buried. The grave was prepared. Celia tenderly bathed the body. Bellamy finished what needed to be done with his own gentle magic. It was not the first time he'd helped lay out the body of someone he loved. "Her wand?" he asked Celia. Celia went to a cupboard. Beth may have lost her magic many years before, but a witch was always buried with her wand in her hand. Bellamy closed her hand over her wand, and gently pressed the fingers tight. He leaned over and kissed the closed eyes.

At the feet of an enormous stone god, the ancient god Noonga, high up on the mountain, fourteen warriors were finding their paralysis gradually becoming less. Some of them had already managed to get to the clear spring that bubbled at the carved feet of the god. They'd been terrified, and now they were very thirsty.

At the hospital, the only building of the village still standing, the nuns gave shelter to the mothers with small children. Soon the villagers would start rebuilding their own simple homes, as they had before when a tornado passed.

Not too close to the borders of Beth's property, villagers and priest watched. Bellamy ignored them. Just one spear was thrown, but it bounced off where the row of wooden poles marked the boundary. Phoenix song started softly, then began to fill the atmosphere. The priest came as close as he could. There was a flowering shrub next to him. And he blinked as buds grew on new twigs, and flowers opened as he watched. It was happening all over the property.

Bellamy cast a glance around, but allowed the watchers to remain. Beth had once been a tiny, round child who had laughed at nothing and whose days had been filled with happiness. And then she started school, and discovered hatred. It was that same hatred that had killed her, but this island had given her a lot of happiness before they'd turned against her. It had been her home.

Beth was gently put to rest in a grave in her own beloved home. Bellamy sat before her grave, and an enormous stone appeared over it. And over the next half hour, as Father O'Flaherty watched, fascinated, he used his magic to change the stone into an image of his daughter. It sat like a Buddha, robes flowing over a generous body, and with the same expression of wisdom that the best Buddha figures show. And then he just sat in front of it for an hour. Celia sat respectfully, further back.

When he rose to his feet, he looked just like a naked man, tired and sad. No-one threw spears. The ground no longer looked disturbed, and vines and bushes grew closer around the figure. It looked like it had been there for a hundred years. Bellamy's conjures lasted mostly between seventy and eighty years. His Buddha/Beth figure would last a thousand years. None of this generation of villagers but Celia, would ever be able to approach it, although others could.

Back in the little house, he asked Celia whether she wanted to come with him. He thought the villagers might hurt her. Celia declined. Like Beth had said, she said, "This is my home. I will not leave." So he just asked if she wanted to take anything before he made the house go away. Celia nodded, and went to a wardrobe.

Bellamy didn't know the significance of the small statuette she removed, but it obviously meant something to her. "You can call me if you're in trouble," he said, and explained how she could call him.

But Celia only said that she would go to Father O'Flaherty. "He's a good man. He will look after me." And Celia, with dignity, left the small home. She was not molested.

Bellamy moved about the little house himself. There was no will that he could find, but Kate was her only child. Her possessions would go to Kate. A lot of books, a few clothes, little else. Beth had always been happy with a simple life. He sent them home for Kate. And then he emerged from the little house. The priest still watched, a nun beside him. He walked to the statue he'd made, touched it, glanced at the house, and it was gone without trace. A bare area of ground remained, but grass ran across and covered the wounded area with a merciful shield of green. A last look around, and Bellamy was gone.

The priest tried to push forward, but, like it was for all the islanders but Celia, it appeared the area within the boundary was taboo.

At home, Pat was worried. Bellamy had gone without a word. She'd opened her eyes just as he disapparated. Esme was unhappy. A mother should not be disturbed at this time, when the babe needed a calm mother to feed her. Xander rested his chin on the foot of Esme, but leapt to his feet, tail wagging, and gave a delighted yelp. Bellamy was back.

It was mid morning at home, and Bellamy had been gone not quite twelve hours. Pat was in the lounge room, Esme with her. Xander jumped up on him, and Pat went to him and hugged him, and only Esme noticed at first that he was naked. He looked sad and tired, as he sat in a chair, leaving dirt stains.

Esme picked up the sleeping child, and put it in his arms. The baby, just days old, opened her eyes, and smiled at him. Bellamy's eyes prickled with tears, and he cuddled his new daughter a little closer. "There was something they said at Connor's funeral," he said. "In the midst of life, we are in death," and he smiled at his tiny daughter, and said, very softly, "But the reverse is true, too - in the midst of death, we are in life."

There was a silence for a moment, and then Pat asked, "What happened?"

Bellamy said simply, "Beth is dead. They killed her because she was different, and a witch."

Esme was frowning at him. He seemed thin. She remembered something that she'd read in her book - Bellamy lost weight very quickly when he used strong magic. She wondered if the island that had sheltered his daughter for most of her life, was still in existence.

Pat had two questions on the tip of her tongue. He answered them both. "I didn't kill anyone, and I _am _very hungry."

Pat said calmly, "Well, you'd best shower and put some clothes on, and I'll find you something to eat."

Bellamy started, and glanced down at himself, "Sorry, Esme."

Esme smiled, "I _am_ a healer, you know. I have seen a naked man before."

Esme tucked the baby in her cradle, soothing the beginning whimper, and just touching her wand to the nappy, and it was clean and dry again. It reminded her, and she used her wand to touch the chair that Bellamy had left muddied. She wondered what he'd been doing. It appeared that putting on clothes hadn't been a priority.

When Bellamy reappeared, he still looked pale and tired. He trembled a little, too. Esme frowned at him, and went to her bag. A few minutes later, he was taken by surprise when he was ordered to take a potion.

"No!" he said indignantly. "I'm perfectly all right, and anyway, you're not my healer!"

Esme glanced at Pat. "What is it?" Pat asked.

"Just something to calm away nervous exhaustion," said Esme.

Pat went to her husband and whispered in his ear. He gave an even more ill tempered frown, but took the potion, and Esme smiled. He was still looking irritable though, and when Esme started to say again what a beautiful baby Susan was, he only grumped that he had some messages to send, and went off in the direction of Alison's office.

Esme went for a walk outside, leaving Pat to look after her husband. When Bellamy came back, she asked him if he'd had any sleep, and suggested he go to bed for a while. Her contrary husband denied that he was tired, and quite quickly gave himself the lie when he leaned his head back in his chair, and went to sleep for three hours.

Beth was dead, and Beth was the wonderful old lady who was the first of the wizarding world to show friendship to Pat. But Susan was here, and Pat picked up her sleeping daughter, and cuddled her. Esme had told her. A baby could never have too many cuddles, cuddles were more important than anything. Cuddles were food for the soul.

***chapter end***


	49. Chapter 49

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 18_

_In the midst of death, we are in life_. Pat repeated those words to Bellamy, as he looked at the invitations they'd received for New Year's Eve Parties.

"I want to go to them all," he said to Pat, who didn't want to go to any, and he added, "Except for the Malfoy one, that's very likely a trap," and he casually tossed the so carefully worded invitation in the fire.

Pat smiled fondly. "You're going to be a dead bore about your new daughter!"

Bellamy smiled. "They always want the great wizard - well, this time they're going to pay for it." And at several different parties that evening, he conjured pictures in the air of the most beautiful baby in the world.

New Year's Eve, at the Malfoy Mansion, Billy Achmed, Tristan Ridgecombe, and Vincent Fabiano waited hopefully with Haslett Malfoy. There had been a time stated, and for a while, they even had their wands raised, waiting in ambush. Arms started to ache, and they were soon lowered, and when it became clear that he was not going to come, they drank a lot of alcohol instead, and told each other what they'd do with all their money as soon as their task was completed.

Haslett Malfoy watched with a slight sneer on his face. Alone among them, he knew that what they were attempting could be very dangerous. But if Malfoy had his way, it would not be himself who ran the risks. He knew some spells the others didn't - such as the Memory Modification spell. He'd been working on the Imperius spell, but his success was inconsistent. A fourth year girl for instance, had only just raised her hand to undo the buttons of her blouse, when she'd broken out of it, and would have reported him if he hadn't managed to modify her memory in time.

Kate's family made a pilgrimage to Beth's island of Noonga Tuku. There was a lot of building activity, but word had not leaked to the newspapers that anything unusual had occurred. Even the priest hadn't said anything. He wasn't sure what to say. Celia was left alone. The islanders were afraid that if they touched her, that avenging spirit might reappear. But Celia thought she might have to leave anyway. It was really very unpleasant to be set apart, friendless among her own people.

Bellamy had warned his family that he'd destroyed Beth's house, and that he'd left a stone. They hadn't expected anything like the massive figure he'd conjured. It looked like a god. One of Kate's sons helped the old lady as she passed between the wooden poles that marked the boundaries. A villager watched, and word was sent to Father O'Flaherty.

The priest met the dozen visitors at the edge of the property. Kate listened to him, and she nodded. Bellamy had punished the village, but now there was hardly a cooking pot left. The fourteen men who had been paralysed were now back with their families, their paralysis almost gone. Fearful looks followed the visitors, and two of the wizards pulled out their wands, just in case.

The priest shuddered. Ten days before, he hadn't believed that magic existed. He had reassessed his ideas, and considered especially the contribution his teaching had made to the death of the woman whose statue he could now look at, but only from a distance. There would be some monetary help given, but the old brown woman with the remains of a great beauty, said sternly that her mother had been murdered. The villagers had to accept their responsibility for that murder.

That night, Father O'Flaherty thought carefully about another thing his religion taught. And maybe that other thing was as baseless as the condemnation of witchcraft. Sister Jose was in agreement. The father's celibacy and the sister's chastity were put aside, and they were both a lot happier for it. They kept up the hospital, but the priest was very careful what he taught from then on.

As always, healers everywhere were busy in early January, breaking spells that fighting wizards had inflicted on each other. It was routine, and only a proportion of these patients would wind up in front of Bellamy. Sometimes it was because a particular spell often led to difficulties, and sometimes it was because the spells of a particular witch or wizard were harder to break than usual. A casual question to Katrina gave the information to Tristan that intermingled spells were often very difficult to break, even for the great wizard. Often the strong magic was needed, which might leave him tired, and vulnerable. But that portion of the information was a little out of date. Bellamy very rarely became tired enough, using his magic, to be vulnerable these days.

They drew straws, although Hortense was still working at her poison, and did not take part, and Malfoy only appeared to take part. Billy Achmed drew the short straw, and Hortense, Haslett, Vincent and Tristan tried to make simultaneous spells. Poor Billy wound up looking dreadful, and quite unable to walk. The school nurse touched her wand to him, muttered a word, and he was normal again. Another failure.

Hortense started working on some Veritaserum, a clear potion which made a person tell the truth, unable to help themselves. There was Peter Barnes, and although it was not widely known, Haslett said that he might be of the same Barnes family that worked for the great wizard. But Veritaserum took a month to prepare.

Bellamy's wife had just had a baby. One of the ideas was that if they could kidnap the baby, he might kill himself in return for the baby's life. But, of course, they still didn't know where he lived, though Tristan's mother went there nearly every day. He'd asked, of course, but Katrina only very calmly said that it was not her secret to tell. And no-one could follow when a person disapparated.

Back home, Pat and Bellamy knew there were always plots to kill Bellamy and collect the reward. But life was good. Esme was gone, although she would call in a couple of times yet, and Susan was thriving on her mother's milk. Pat still didn't want to go out much, as Susan was too small to face the bitter weather. Bellamy was out more, feeling his usual need for exercise, and socialising too. There was the gymnasium, the swimming pool, and he would ride as long as it wasn't too slippery, and he would walk, on his property, and through the streets of London sometimes, although Julia rebuked him for that habit. He was too vulnerable without his bodyguards, she thought. But Bellamy pointed out that he was virtually never attacked in medj areas. He didn't stand out enough. He was anonymous, and his anonymity was his greatest protection.

More memories were coming back to Bellamy from those clouded years. He told Pat sometimes - a memory of cleaning large dog pens filled with St. Bernards, who always wanted to jump all over him. He made pictures on the wall for her. "They're blurry," she said, and he explained that he'd lost his glasses, he thought very early on.

"Everything was blurry in those days. I thought it was only perfectly natural that a crazy man would not be able to see clearly."

"They have docked tails," she said. "What country still docks the tails of dogs?"

Bellamy shrugged. "I wandered all over Europe, and a bit in Australia, too."

"What were you like in those days?" she asked, but he reddened and only said that he'd been pretty pathetic. Pat still wanted him to tell her more, but she didn't press.

Memories came back more when they were in the spa together, and he thought of those six men who'd shared their warmth and their love. But he wasn't ready to talk about those men yet. Who would understand and not condemn?

But he told her about Olga, who'd taken him home one day like a stray dog. "Like I brought Xander home," he said. And he grinned. "I was a bit uncertain whether it was allowed, but she told me we had to have sex every day. But then one afternoon, she told me to pack, took me in the car, and dumped me fifty miles away. I have a feeling her husband might have been due home."

Pat laughed, and was more curious than ever. "But what were you _like_?" she asked.

Bellamy couldn't really answer. "They called me simple, or Dopey, or Half-wit," he explained, "But so often people were very kind. Mostly, I was looked after, even though I had no claim on anybody whatsoever." A memory came to him, "I looked at myself in the mirror once, when I was fitted for a uniform," he offered, and showed her himself in a white uniform, wearing a wide smile, but with a different quality in the smile. It looked somehow that of a child.

Pat frowned at the picture, and it, too, was blurry. "You still didn't have glasses then," she said.

Bellamy shook his head. "I couldn't have."

"You used to tell people you were a crazy man?"

"I don't think so, not usually," Bellamy said, uncertainly. "I was mostly sensible enough to get a job when I needed, simple labouring jobs, of course." But he told her about his odd rules for himself, that a crazy man couldn't apparate or work magic. That a crazy man had to obey orders, and was not allowed to fight, or to go with women.

"But you told me about Olga," she said.

Bellamy frowned. "There were other women too, sometimes, but then years would go by without. I don't know when I decided I wasn't allowed to go with women, but I don't think it was from the start." They were in the spa, and his fingers went thoughtfully to the scars from a flogging.

At Hogwarts, a house-elf scowled at the bubbling cauldron in Tristan's room. House-elves were dedicated to being good servants, and were so seldom seen that they tended to be forgotten. The students just accepted that things were kept clean, and rubbish tidied away. But like all servants, house-elves tended to hear things. It was a potion that Vesner, the house-elf, saw, and Vesner knew that potions must never be interfered with. But a book of poisons was close, and it was known among the house-elves that the group of seventh year Slytherins were making their plans to try and kill the great wizard.

Vesner consulted, and a tiny sprinkling of an extra ingredient was added one day. It would not change the function of the potion in the slightest degree, but it now emitted a vile spell. Hortense couldn't work it out, but it was time to add the last ingredients, and then it had to stand just one week more, and would be ready. Maybe it was just a stage, and she crossed her fingers and added the last ingredients. It looked exactly the way it should look.

But three days later, they had to give up as there were too many complaints, and they risked discovery. The potion was vanished. The veritaserum still gently bubbled, but a search for the source of the nasty smell was avoided.

Bellamy resumed working Thursdays in London, spell-breaking. He took Xander with him, now, and people became accustomed to him appearing with his dog in his arms. Xander was well behaved, and no trouble. Bellamy was an utter bore about the beauty of his daughter, and after a while, the aurors took care to avoid any mention of babies. But otherwise he was as casual and efficient with his cures as ever.

There was a patient one day who had intermingled spells and required the strong magic. There was no trap, and the woman was cured quite easily, though it was discovered that the auror, Otis, whom Pat once said looked a little like Frankenstein's monster, could not tolerate the strong magic, although dainty Heather was quite unperturbed.

It was not long before he was asked to start doing Fridays, as well. It was not that there were so many in England, but every week, there would be clients from overseas. Even in mid-February, he was still doing casualties of New Year's Eve celebrations.

Peter Barnes was in sixth year - a serious and responsible youth, and a Hufflepuff prefect. The Veritaserum was finished, but it proved a very difficult thing to get it into Peter's food or drink. Peter didn't mix with the Slytherins much, and the group was a year ahead as well.

Hortense had a go, as it was thought he didn't have a girlfriend. But either he had a girlfriend after all, or just didn't fancy Hortense, though she was an attractive young woman. Peter had learned prudence from his home, and an anonymous gift of chocolates was passed on to the house mistress, who had it checked. "Veritaserum," Professor Parker said. "You'll have to be careful." It was known among a few of the staff that Peter's home was the home of the great wizard, and Professor Parker was yet another of Bellamy's descendants.

A few days later, a more direct method was attempted. Peter was set upon by Tristan, Billy, and Vincent, while Hortense attempted to pour the potion down his throat. But Peter fought furiously, and had his wand out, just missing getting Billy. The battle was interrupted by Hugo Smith, the son of Therese, who came in at the sounds of the scuffle. All but Peter, fled. Haslett, from his sheltered position, sent the Memory Modification spell, just as Hugo started questioning Peter. But Peter could no longer remember the incident, and it was not easy to break a Memory Modification spell without risk to the victim.

"Tell me about the Costa Rivera," said Pat to her husband one evening, They were in the spa, naked, cuddling together. Little Susan was asleep in a cradle close by.

Bellamy told her about Chivas, how he'd been almost tearing his hair out one night because he'd refused to go to bed, saying it was not his cabin. "And yet, he put up with me." He grinned at her. "I told him about Sheba, and _he_ didn't threaten to turn me into a toad." He told her about Esta, too. That he used to call her Catherine. "She reminded me of Esme's grandmother, Catherine Rutherford, who was the Ministry Healer for something like forty years. I became very fond of Catherine."

"How did you come to get a job on a cruise ship?" asked Pat. "Surely, if you were as you said you were, you would not have been given a job."

Bellamy frowned uncertainly, "There may have been a ship before that one.." He shook his head. "I don't remember, but that's not uncommon. I just drifted, and tended to find myself in places." He grinned. "I learned to drift away from policemen pretty quick. They always seemed to want to take me places I didn't want to go."

Pat wanted to know about the Costa Rivera. She knew there was a later ship, but he could tell her about that one easily, and when he showed her memories from the Belle Chartreusie, they were clear edged. He'd been wearing glasses then. Pat was convinced that it was on the Costa Rivera that Bellamy had started to find himself again. She wished he'd tell her. It would be an act of trust. She hadn't forgotten the story of the retarded man swimming ashore, and being found again by his lover.

_**x**_

Haslett Malfoy had more definite information now. His mother was all in favour of Haslett restoring the family fortune by winning himself a fifth share of the enormous reward. Malfoy was practising. He was getting a lot better at the Imperius Curse, but now only had students doing innocuous things, and he'd take the curse off straight afterward, followed by the Memory Modification spell again, which he was very good at now.

But when he aimed at Peter's back, Peter whipped around and sent the spell straight back at him before it could connect. Malfoy was dizzy, but Peter didn't know what the spell was that he'd returned, and didn't follow through with any instructions. Haslett stumbled off. Peter Barnes was not known as an exceptional student, and Haslett was. But Peter had still defeated Malfoy. His hours of defence practice had not been wasted. But now Peter knew that Haslett Malfoy had tried to do something.

This was the second time that Peter Barnes had been targeted. Word spread. Hugo Smith, the big, redheaded son of Therese Abercrombie, and Kupec Thomas, the son of Alexander, started keeping a watch over him as much as possible. They were in the same year, which helped a lot, though Hugo and Kupec were in Gryffindor. They knew that Peter lived at the home of the great wizard. Professor Parker warned a few of the Hufflepuff students that Peter was being targeted, with the result that there was no opportunity for months to try the next plan for Peter. Simple force. Bend his elbow back - that sort of thing. Peter was learning to watch for potential enemies, and to be very cautious. He practised his speed, too, he and his friends, practising duelling by hurling relatively harmless spells at each other.

Billy Achmed, Hortense Smythe, Haslett Malfoy, Tristan Ridgecombe, and Vincent Fabiano were beginning to think they might have to work for a living after all.

_**x**_

Bellamy was finding himself with a desire to show his wife those men who had been so important to him. But how could she understand? Instead, he showed her Guido, first as a blurred figure, and also, he was clear.

"You found your glasses?" Pat asked.

Bellamy grinned. "I wanted to get off the ship, and nearly made it, but then poor Lopez and Ramirez, were ordered to look after me. It came up that I couldn't read something, and one of them asked why. I told him that I'd lost my glasses, so Esta and Guido organised me to an optometrist."

Instead of asking _why_ he'd wanted to get off the ship, the question that had immediately come to mind, Pat asked him to tell her about the Spaniards, and about Guido. She knew he was coming closer. But she also knew that he felt a discomfort and an embarrassment still about many things that had occurred when he'd wandered.

***chapter end***


	50. Chapter 50

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 19_

In early March, Bellamy resumed spell-breaking trips. Dieter was in charge again, and Scott, Stan, Ryde, and another young one, Jeremy. Jeremy was tall, lean and walked like a tiger about to pounce. "It's a conspiracy to make me feel small!" Bellamy complained. But there was time to go swimming before work commenced, and seeing him playing with Scott and Jeremy in the heated swimming pool, Dieter smiled to himself. As Fred and Patrick had said, he enjoyed the young ones.

Dieter was nearly fifty, and had failed the latest fitness tests, but Julia had re-categorised the job as 'desk' in order to keep Bellamy happy with someone he liked and trusted. She'd only recently heard the story of 'Nathan-who-carries-a-knife,' and was aware of the possibility of treachery from an auror. One of those behind the attack in France had been a senior French auror. The reward was just too large. There were bound to be many tempted.

Twice that week, death spells came hurtling at Bellamy, and once, there was an attack at night. Bellamy ducked one of the spells, and batted the other straight back to the one who'd sent it, killing him. He still had his lightning reactions. He wasn't told about the night attack, and didn't notice that Scott and Stan were replaced by Homer and Heather. The attackers' information was faulty, as the attack was made after he'd already gone home.

He seldom saw those on night duty. But Scott wound up with a Baldo Auror's award, like Cindy, although Stan already had the small red badge that denoted injured on duty, and only had a few days off.

Once home, with the improving weather, he'd call in to say hello to Pat, play with the baby for a little, and then go for a gallop on Jester, often accompanied by Archie or Victor, occasionally both.

Every evening, after dinner, Bellamy and Pat would enjoy their spa. "The best birthday present I've ever had," said Bellamy, laying back his head in uttermost contentment. He still talked about his memories of those clouded years, as Pat was so very interested. There was a white mare, and he showed her a picture of a furious Jorge Covas, the image blurry as usual, but almost jumping up and down in rage. He grinned. "I told him he had to have an Old Horses' Paddock, and he didn't think the half-wit should be telling him anything. But then he gave me my way anyway, and I was with him a while, I think."

Pat asked, "Why did you leave him?" But Bellamy didn't remember.

Another evening, he showed her a blurred picture of children playing under what appeared to be an irrigation sprinkler, but couldn't remember the context at all. And there was a heavy Clydesdale pulling a plough. It looked a poor and backward area, but all he could remember was that the horse was called Poiter. And there was a woman with glasses, at a desk. She seemed to be pulling out her hair in frustration. "She was saying that yesterday, I said my name was something different! She didn't like it when I changed my name day to day." And he grinned, "Funny that!"

Pat rather hesitantly asked Katrina one day what he'd been like. But Katrina only said that he was very quiet, and always seemed sad and lonely. Archie and Ursula said the same, but also that he would wait to be told what to do. "Sometimes, he was good, though," Archie said, defending his boss. "He was supposed to be confused when he fought Spectra McFiddan, and yet beat her with ridiculous ease."

Ursula added, "Sidney, too, when he got Sidney off the charge."

Pat asked Bellamy about that, and he reddened as he said that he remembered nothing of that incident. "I've never admitted that I can't remember though, so don't tell him."

Pat asked Sidney instead what had happened, and Sidney told her, but he too, reddened. He didn't like to think that he'd killed someone. "You used magic without a wand?" Pat said, thoughtfully.

Sidney nodded, but added, "I tried and tried, but I could never do it again."

From Caradoc, Pat had a good idea of the reasons that Bellamy had become so lost, and Bellamy herself had told her once - that it was because everybody he knew, died, and he didn't want to be alone. She remembered it well.

March twenty-fifth, and Bellamy reminded her that it was the anniversary of the day she'd arrived here. He said that they'd have to make love in honour of the occasion, and she laughed at him. "We make love _every_ night!"

He pulled her tight. "That's what beds are for!"

She was still teasing, "_And _spa-rooms, _and_ haysheds, and any reasonably private bit of grass!"

"It'll soon be warm enough for that, too," he assured her.

_**x**_

At Hogwarts, Hortense Smythe started again to make poisons, another attempt at the one she'd been preparing before, and another that was difficult, took two full moon cycles to prepare, but was supposed to be tasteless, odourless, and to cause death without fail, but discreetly, not for a few weeks after the victim took the poison. She had to miss the Easter holidays, but she thought it worth the sacrifice.

Billy, Vincent and Tristan found a sudden opportunity when Peter was caught on his own. Without hesitation, they dived on him. When Hugo and Kupec arrived, they had him squashed on the floor, with his arm twisted painfully behind him. Hugo restrained Kupec a second before they intervened, and they heard the repeated question, "Where do you live?"

Peter swore at them, promising revenge. But his arm was pulled a notch harder, and the question was repeated. Hugo and Kupec nodded at each other, and the three Slytherins were given a very severe beating, Peter very happy to help as soon as he was freed.

The school nurse treated their bruises and broken ribs, and tried to straighten Tristan's broken nose. All but Tristan were allowed out of hospital the following day. But Tristan was Hugo's cousin, and Hugo thought it the vilest act of treachery. He was one of Grandfather Harry's own family, like himself! Tristan was in hospital for a few days longer. None of the fighters on either side told any teacher what was going on.

But Tristan announced that he was not doing it any more, and the potions had to be finished somewhere else than in his room. Malfoy made threats. Tristan stopped protesting. The poisons continued to brew, and there was still a stock of veritaserum if opportunity permitted.

_**x**_

Easter, and Bellamy went for a ride with Peter. It was a wild and windy day, entirely suitable, they thought, for a race.

"They're trying to get me to tell you where you live," said Peter, when they arrived at a cliff-top which overlooked a rough sea.

Bellamy paid attention, and suddenly felt something. He was good at feeling spells. "You've got a spell on you," he said, "Memory Modification."

Peter nodded. "Madam Preston, she's the school nurse, says that it's too risky to take off."

"I can take it off, and not hurt you," said Bellamy quietly, "If you're willing."

Peter looked at him dubiously. "Madam Preston says that removing a Memory Modification can leave a person never quite the same."

"I break spells, remember," said Bellamy. "I can feel spells, and I can do what other people cannot. It's entirely up to you, but I think you should talk to your parents. It might be something very significant."

Peter said thoughtfully, "I'm pretty sure it was just a fight, but I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"See what your mum and dad say," said Bellamy.

Xander met them halfway home, thrilled to have found the boss. "Silly dog," said Bellamy. "We went too far and fast for you. That's why you were supposed to stay home."

That evening in the spa, Pat again asked Bellamy about the Costa Rivera. He showed her the cabin, with eight bunks. "I had six room-mates, they touched a lot," he said. "It's the way all Italians are, but they seemed to touch more than most." He smiled. "I thought they made the cabin warm, and when they were away, it was cold, and I was miserable." And he told her again about Chivas being driven half demented when he insisted it was not his cabin.

But he shied off again, and when he showed her an image, it was of the recreation room, and Lopez teaching him table-tennis.

"It's sharp," Pat commented.

"I must have had my glasses, then, but I don't think I had them long when I left."

Pat was quiet a while. "Did you really just jump over and swim ashore?"

Bellamy shrugged, uncomfortable, "Guido said I had to be looked after, and he refused to let me go. Or if I insisted, he'd hand me over to be committed." He didn't look at her. "I'm a good swimmer; it wasn't so hard."

Pat said, "I'd like to have seen their faces when you gave them a lecture on dragon keeping?"

Bellamy laughed, losing his discomfort. "They were very patient. I told them about merpeople, too."

The following day, Bellamy undid the Memory Modification for Peter. As Peter had said, it was just a fight, although he now knew Hortense Smythe had been involved, and had Veritaserum. Bellamy questioned him closely about the other attacks on him. He was especially interested in the spell that was returned to Malfoy, but hadn't seemed to have much effect. There had been no verbal incantation. One thing was clear. Someone, and he suspected the Malfoy boy, was becoming very good at Memory Modification.

After the short Easter break, Bellamy made an appointment with Professor Twitchett, the headmaster. When the Hogwarts students went to dinner that day, there was a lot of excitement. The great wizard was there. Could he possibly be going to come back to teach again? His presence was not explained for a while, and attention turned back to the meal. The house-elves knew he was there, and it was an especially good meal that evening. Bellamy thought it was just a coincidence when his favourite dessert appeared on the table.

Meantime, Bellamy quietly looked over the four long house tables in front of him. He picked out the boy whom he thought was probably the son of Therese, and he was sitting next to Kupec, whom he'd met at Alexander's funeral. He noticed Peter, but neither of them made any sign of recognition. It wasn't supposed to be known that Peter lived at the hidden home of the great wizard. Without being obvious, he scanned the Slytherin table, but didn't pick out Tristan. There was the Malfoy boy, though. He was sure of it. As he'd said to Peter, it was almost as much a family tradition in the Malfoy family to try and kill him, as it was in the Barnes family, to look after him.

The students finished their meal. Normally, they might have just quietly left, as they were allowed, but no-one left. The room gradually quieted instead, and students watched the great wizard, though he only seemed to be eating a dessert, and talking to Professor Twitchett on one side of him, and Professor Ardmon on the other side.

At length, Professor Twitchett looked questioningly at Bellamy who nodded, and rose.

"My name's Henry Bellamy," he said, although there was not a soul there by then, who didn't know who he was. "It appears that someone at this school has been using the Memory Modification spell, which is, of course, subject to very strict guidelines imposed by the Ministry. If it has been used wrongly, it's an illegal act. The person who may have been subject to it may have a blank in their memory, may have found themselves a little confused, or may remember doing something they would not normally have done. As some of you probably know, my job is feeling, understanding, and breaking spells. Without looking at a person's mind, I can feel if that person has a spell on him, even the subtle Memory Modification, and I can take it off, without, of course, doing any harm to the student."

He paused to let them take it in. There was a rustle of voices, and people were looking at each other, some with suspicion. "Your headmaster has kindly allowed me to use the big office near his own, and any students who would like me to check if they have a Memory Modification spell on them should come to me there. I'll be there until quite late."

Madam Preston, the school nurse, waited with Bellamy in the large outer office of a two room apartment. "I lived here for years," Bellamy told Griselda. "These were my rooms." He looked out the small high window of the bedroom. "Very secure. I needed protection in those days, too."

There was a knock on the door. Professor Parker, "Three students would like to see you," she said.

Bellamy smiled, "Thanks, Jill."

Three girls in their early teens came in. Madam Preston tensed. Memory Modification was often used after rape. But Bellamy only smiled reassuringly at the worried girls, and asked two to wait outside for their friend. "Your name?" he asked the remaining girl. "Lillian Davenport."

"Are you a relative of mine?" Bellamy asked.

The girl shook her head, and suddenly grinned. "We're about the only lot of Davenports left that aren't, though."

Bellamy laughed, and said, "It's rather a relief. Everywhere I look these days, it seems to be my own relatives!"

Lillian was nervous when Bellamy asked if he could remove the spell from her. She turned questioning eyes to the nurse who nodded reassuringly. Five minutes later, they knew that Haslett Malfoy was the one responsible for the Memory Modification, but also that he was attempting to use an Unforgivable Curse, the Imperius Curse. Lillian was rather pleased with herself on the whole, as Bellamy explained that very few were able to throw off an Imperius Curse.

"You did very well, indeed," he told her. But an Unforgivable Curse was a lot more serious than Memory Modification, and Professor Twitchett was informed, as well as the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic.

There were a dozen students lined up now, most girls, and most in the charge of Professor Crio, the Slytherin housemistress. There was a buzz of comment, and awe bordering on fear, when four uniformed aurors made their appearance. They were big, grim-faced men.

Bellamy came out to meet them, and the waiting students watched in silent trepidation as he greeted two by name, and two more were introduced to him. Bellamy smiled at the waiting students. "There are also aurors who are small and blonde - you'd think they could have sent someone who looked a bit more approachable."

Bruce said, "Sorry, we were just the ones on duty."

"I thought you had a transfer."

But Bruce said, pleased with himself, "I managed a desk job. I use my brains these days, not brawn." Bellamy had achieved his object, and the students looked less frightened. The big men were only human, after all.

Lillian still waited in the office. She was questioned again, and Professor Crio was asked to fetch Haslett Malfoy. Homer went with her. Use of the Unforgivable Curses carried heavy penalties, and Malfoy was seventeen, an adult in the wizarding world. But Malfoy had cleaned up all evidence of wrongdoing, including the poisons in Tristan's bedroom, and was, at that moment, disapparating from just outside the grounds. He would be out of the country by morning.

Meantime, Bellamy spoke briefly to each of the students, dismissing several. Four more turned into the corridor that led to Bellamy's office. A teacher started conjuring chairs for the waiting students. Malfoy had needed a lot of practice before he was confident with the Imperius Curse.

In the next couple of hours, Bellamy lifted Memory Modification Spells from sixteen students, several of whom could describe the blissful feeling of being under an Imperius Curse. Word was spreading, and more students and even teachers combed their own memories for mysterious blanks, and times when they were unexpectedly confused or dizzy.

Six Ravenclaw students accompanied by the House Master arrived. Bellamy was introduced to Professor Partridge, who hadn't been at dinner. But Professor Partridge was adamant that he couldn't possibly have been touched. Bellamy just said, "Sorry."

Partridge stalked up and down the room for a while, before grudgingly yielding, and saying he'd better do it. And then he was even more angry. "That swine! Just because I was handing out a Detention to his mate, Tristan!"

None of those six Ravenclaw students were touched, though.

The supply of students finally dwindled and ceased. Bruce and another auror had done the questioning, and five students were expelled, including the absent Malfoy. Bellamy was weary, and it was late, but agreed to return Saturday, as it was decided that every single student and member of staff needed to be checked, whether they thought they might have been affected, or not. It was only another plot to kill him. School students never really had much chance against the great wizard. And Bellamy had protectors he never even knew of. He'd never met Vesner, the house-elf, for instance, and her intervention hadn't become known.

Saturday, Xander quietly at his side, Bellamy checked hundreds of students and dozens of staff, usually just a quick introduction, a smile and a nod, and onto the next one. It seemed the doorman and two of the security guards were affected. The firm instruction that was left with them was to allow totally free movement to the five Slytherin seventh year students.

Only three more students had been affected, and the actions they'd carried out while under the spell were harmless. It seemed they were just practice subjects.

Afterwards, Bellamy strolled the grounds that had been once so familiar, Xander, as always, close to his heels. Hugo and Kupec watched from a distance, but Bellamy saw, and hailed them. Peter kept away, and a couple who had wondered, guessed that, after all, it could not be his family who looked after Bellamy.

Xander looked around alertly, as if he, too, would like to leap into action to protect the boss. Hugo and Kupec both wanted to be aurors like Hugo's mother, and Kupec's father, but they said there was no hope. The Ministry had announced that there would be no intake of trainee aurors, probably for years.

"Any ideas then?" asked Bellamy.

Kupec said hesitantly that he might like to work at the Ministry, maybe work his way up to a position of power. And he grinned. "I want to be in a position to give orders."

"Any chance you might come back teaching?" asked Hugo.

Bellamy shook his head, regretfully. "Probably not, not unless wizardry becomes a lot more civilised."

He looked around the grounds. Students were everywhere, even though it was not a warm day. "There are a lot more students than when I was here last," he commented.

"We have a score or more medj-born every year these days," said Hugo. "Mum says these things just go in cycles."

Bellamy frowned. It wasn't widely acknowledged, but most medj-born wizards and witches were sired as a result of rape of a medj woman, by a wizard, followed by Memory Modification. Not all of them, but most.

***chapter end***


	51. Chapter 51

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 20_

April, and there were weeks of very wet weather. Muddy puddles everywhere, and seldom a break in the continual drizzle. Archie was contacted. Pony Club tests for their members. Could they use the indoor arena Saturday? Archie said he'd ask the boss and get back to her. Bellamy agreed, though they all had to be a bit more careful what they did when the Pony Club came.

Ursula had undertaken a project the previous year, and now the indoor arena, occasionally again functioning as a Quidditch pitch, was surrounded on three sides by fields of thousands of daffodils. But there were sheets of water lying around, and few were picked. It made a very happy sight though, lightening the spirit when the sky remained grey and dreary.

Margaret and Bellamy watched the Pony Club tests with interest. Margaret would soon be nine, and wanted to join. "When can we start taking Susan visiting?" asked Margaret. Susan fascinated Margaret, who still carried her own redheaded doll with her wherever she went.

"Soon," said Bellamy. "But Pat can't apparate, and it's too dangerous to try and take two passengers at once."

Margaret changed the subject. "You said that Peter had done brilliantly, that he has a lot of courage."

"They've been attacking him at school, trying to make him tell where you live, so they can try and get me." Bellamy was frowning. He didn't like his friends getting hurt because of him, and he looked at the vivid redhead beside him. But then he grinned. Margaret could just scream, and no-one would be game to come within miles.

For her ninth birthday, Margaret was given a wand, and she, too, joined the defence classes. She was talented, and when Bellamy took a hand as teacher, she learned the body bind spell, though the stun spell would probably take a few years yet. She now mostly rode Jedda too, instead of her own small pony. Either Victor or one of her parents would tow the horse box the few miles to where the Pony Club meetings were normally held. And Margaret, too, was always accompanied by an extra witch or wizard. It would be too easy for Bellamy to be attacked through his family, and amazing that it hadn't happened so far.

The rain eased off in May, and the sun shone. The brood mares started having their foals, and again, a large flock of ewes started lambing. The owner of the sheep checked them every day, but usually Bellamy was before him, walking the dew wet grass in the early morning before he went to work, and helping where help was needed. Not every lamb survived, even so, but all the ewes did. Bob Barton thought it must be the good pasture. He'd had so few problems with his sheep here the last couple of years.

Clare spent a lot of time outdoors at her easel. She loved painting the young animals. Ursula and Kitty were looking for someone to teach them anti-conception spells for dogs and cats. Xander would shortly be a father, and although the pups would be useful, they didn't want too many dogs, and there were _always_ too many cats.

Bellamy hadn't talked about the clouded years to Pat for weeks. And when she asked again about it, he showed her something different. "You want to know what I was like then. But I was the same person I am now. It's just that I wasn't thinking - just being." And he showed her some new pictures, a blurred woman watching him indulgently as she ate an ice-cream with him. "I was given treats sometimes, I don't think for any particular reason, just that people were kind." And he mentioned, "Even at work now, the aurors sometimes do that, bring me ice-creams because they know I like them." He grinned. "People still like to look after me."

Pat squeezed his hand as she sat beside him in the spa. She knew he thought he didn't need looking after. Pat thought he did.

A few days later, he showed her another woman, eyes raised to the sky. "I was choosing a shirt to wear. She thought it was too bright."

Pat laughed. That hadn't changed. And then there was another picture, for some reason, more misty, and this time two dark complexioned men were pointing him to a rack of shirts, and telling him to choose. "Who were the men?" Pat asked.

"Bruno and Angelo. They shared a cabin with me in the Costa Rivera."

By now Pat suspected that it was one or two of his cabin-mates that may have taken advantage of him, or maybe even raped him. He was getting closer. Pat thought that he might have an unhealed wound - that he needed to talk about it, so that he could accept it.

But Pat was wrong. Bellamy accepted and understood that his friends had used his body, but if he told Pat, he wanted her to understand. They had given him love, and it was that love that had enabled him to come back. But how would anyone understand that he could have been drugged and raped, and yet they had loved?

Susan was five months old. She laughed and chortled, and looked at people with brightly dark and knowing eyes. "When can we tell if she's a witch?" asked Pat.

"Oh, she's a witch, all right," said Bellamy, in between blowing raspberries on the baby's tummy, to Susan's noisy delight.

"How can you tell?"

Bellamy looked at her in surprise. "I hadn't thought about it, but I guess I _have_ learned to tell, just from the feel of the person."

Bellamy wanted to show his incredibly beautiful baby to his friends, the aurors, and Therese and Katrina were especially roped in to help the next time he did the work in London.

They were very late to start that day, as every department of the Ministry had a visit from the great wizard carrying his baby. Susan had to be thoroughly admired before work commenced.

In Medj Affairs, after the visit, Penelope shook her head despairingly at Rocky, "You'd think no-one else had ever had a baby!"

Rocky giggled. She thought it was charming. She'd be showing her new baby to Grandfather Harry at the first opportunity. Of course, she was only three months pregnant so far.

Katrina and Therese meantime, showed Pat the portrait of her husband that hung in the aurors' tea-room. Pat went close, and studied it, and quite suddenly her own eyes were swimming in tears.

"It's a bit like that, isn't it?" said Katrina, in a matter-of-fact tone.

Pat went to the window and looked out for a few minutes, until Therese said that Julia wanted her to visit.

Bellamy kept them waiting. He still had his daughter, and Dieter was looking for him. He was supposed to have an auror with him at all times, even within the Ministry building.

Dieter finally found him talking to Nathan, sitting on the edge of his large and impressive desk, and swinging his feet. Susan sat in a little chair on the floor, presumably conjured. Xander sat next to her, ears pricked in alert attention.

"You're holding everyone up," said Dieter, critically.

"Sorry," said Bellamy, and picked up his daughter, but forgot to vanish the small reclining chair that Susan had been using. The next visitor to Nathan's office would soon be tripping over it.

Pat and Susan went shopping, and then home, and Bellamy started work. He soon caught up. He was very fast, usually.

Toward the end of the day, a wizard walked in. He looked to be in his sixties. "Mr. Darby," said Graham routinely. "Writing on his chest."

Bellamy regarded Mr. Darby. Alec Darby said casually, "I hear you have a very beautiful baby."

Bellamy chuckled. "_How_ beautiful?"

"Oh, _extremely_ beautiful!" Bellamy laughed again, and waved his wand.

"Gone?" said Darby.

Bellamy nodded. "Gone."

"Great, I want to marry again, and that writing would have been just too embarrassing."

Ryde started to indicate that the wizard should leave now. But Darby turned back. "By the way, I've always wondered why you don't just find the reward, and get rid of it yourself. After all, you can probably break any spells safeguarding it."

Bellamy looked up, struck. "I've always left stuff like that to the aurors, but you might be right."

Ryde asked Darby, "Do you know anything about it?"

"I might know a bit."

Ryde whistled, and Scott appeared. "Take Mr. Darby to Bruce. He might be able to help a little."

Graham at his desk, said, "Unusual spell. I wonder what it said that was so embarrassing!"

Bellamy looked amused, "I might tell you later."

Graham looked up, and suddenly narrowed his eyes. Could it be? And a little later, out of earshot of the aurors, Bellamy told him what the writing had said. _I tried to kill the great wizard._ Graham was a little shocked, but Bellamy told him casually that it was over forty years ago, and, of course, the man perfectly obviously knew about beautiful babies, even if he'd never laid eyes on Susan.

He told Pat about it later, in the spa again. It was a time for relaxed talking, the spa. Pat thought it an excellent idea to get rid of the reward. The amount was too large. There were too many plots, too many attempts to kill her husband. One day, one would have to succeed. "You're so much safer in the medj world," commented Pat. "No-one tried to kill you in Sydney, and you survived twenty years wandering, quite defenceless."

Bellamy smiled at her. "No-one tried to kill me, but I made a few people very cross." He showed her a picture of Bruno looking very annoyed. "That was in Morocco. I wandered off, gave all my money to beggars, and then sat on the footpath and waited for someone to tell me what to do next."

"Morocco's not a good place to get lost," commented Pat.

"My friends were amazingly good. They often took me on excursions, especially Bruno and Angelo. I gave them trouble, too, sometimes," and he showed her Angelo looking very annoyed, and for the first time, she heard his voice, speaking quite severely, although in Italian, of course, so she barely gathered the gist.

"I don't remember what I did then. I might not even have quite understood what I did wrong at the time, but they still kept giving me the treat of an excursion when we were in port."

He was quiet for a time, staring at the fading picture of Angelo. And then he spoke again, "They were so good to me."

Over the next days, he showed her more pictures of his cabin-mates. A clear picture of Angelo in a library. "You had your glasses by then," commented Pat.

Bellamy nodded. "I remember the last month or so on the Costa Rivera quite clearly. I think I was getting better, then."

He showed her another picture, perfectly clear. The man had on an expression of polite interest. But then he glanced to the side, at another figure shown less clearly, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "That was Romano. It was that horse book, and I was telling him all about Mischief, I think. Romano didn't know me well, and even _he _was patient."

"Not one of your room-mates, then?" said Pat.

Bellamy had stopped talking, and Pat had the feeling that he really wanted to tell her. But he was silent. After a while, Pat said, "I don't think we've got a copy of that horse book in the library. Maybe we should get one."

Bellamy had all the information that Bruce could give him about the origins and the likely whereabouts of the reward. Unfortunately, it was very little. "It's surrounded by enchantments, and it's said that only the person who's responsible for your death will be able to find it."

"I'll search for hidden places to start with," said Bellamy. "I can feel spells, often, and maybe if I'm close to a hidden place, I'll be able to find it."

"Will you take an auror?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Someone might have a perfectly good reason for keeping their home secret. I won't betray any secrets unless I have to."

Bruce was a little indignant. "Things are not supposed to be hidden from the Ministry of Magic!"

"My own home's still hidden from the Ministry," but then he frowned, "Isn't it?"

"I think so," said Bruce uncertainly. "At least, _I _don't know where it is. Julia or Dianne might, though."

Bellamy was still looking narrow-eyed at him. "People are supposed to forget, unless I tell them myself, but Manfred sent aurors there ten years or so ago."

Bruce was uncomfortable. Bellamy took his eyes off him to his relief.

Systematically, that Saturday, Bellamy started searching the country for any place hidden by spells and enchantments. Bruce's information was so scanty that he thought it best simply to search the whole country, even if it took months. Don was asked to postpone further spell-breaking trips after the next two weeks' work, which were already arranged.

Bellamy already knew that he could feel the spells that hid an area from almost ten miles away. But it was going to be exhausting apparating all over the country, in five mile steps. And the spells that hid a few piles of gold might be less perceptible than those that hid a castle, a property, or even a house. But he started looking, all that Saturday, and half of Sunday, not worrying about areas that only had medj-repelling magic. That was useful and common, used for things like Quidditch pitches, and wizard cemeteries, even a lot of perfectly ordinary wizard homes had that sort of magic. And nearly all of them had spells that repelled salesmen and religious fanatics.

That weekend, he found a large horde of fire-whisky, presumably hidden from someone's wife, and a shed with piles of valuables, probably stolen property. He marked the area he'd searched off his map. He'd continue next weekend.

Monday, in the aeroplane as they flew to Norway, Graham did his checks, as he always insisted on, beginning and end of every week. It only took a second, just two sensors held briefly to the back of his hand, and he'd note the results. "You've already exhausted yourself!" he exclaimed. "I would have stopped you apparating if I'd known."

Dieter turned around at the exclamation. Bellamy was looking uncomfortable. "I'll be fine. Don't fuss!"

Dieter asked, "What have you been doing? Not making like a tornado, again."

"What?" asked Bellamy, taken off balance.

"Beth's island. They said you soared around in the air and tore the place to pieces."

"I didn't soar around in the air and I didn't kill anyone," and he leaned his head back in his seat, and said, "Excuse me, I'm going to have a sleep."

Graham grinned at his grumpiness. He'd ask Dieter later about Beth's island. He hadn't heard that story, though he knew, of course, that Beth was dead.

They only did a half day's work that first day, as they usually did the first day in a country. But Graham said he was still not allowed to apparate. Bellamy glared at him, and Graham thought that he was going to apparate anyway. But then he shrugged and said mildly that he was probably right.

That evening at dinner, Ryde asked casually, "So what were you doing on the weekend?"

Bellamy answered, "I'm trying to find the reward for my death. If I succeed, you might all be out of a job!"

Ryde grinned. "We'll risk it."

"Don't tell anyone, of course," cautioned Bellamy. "It'd be a pest if someone heard and shifted it to a place I've already searched."

He was content that evening to stay in the hotel, listening to talk. He remembered something, and asked Ryde whether he knew anything about steeple chases in the auror department. Ryde grinned, "I won the race."

Bellamy laughed. "I'd love to have seen it," and he cast his eyes about the large room, littered with couches and chairs.

"Don't you dare!" said Dieter. "They'd never let us back."

"Well, anyway, I've grown out of that sort of nonsense," said Ryde, though Scott and Jeremy were looking speculative.

"There's a spa if you want," Dieter mentioned.

"Good idea," replied Bellamy, and was quite pleased when Dieter joined him.

"You called me Franz last time I was in a spa with you," Dieter casually commented.

"Franz was a real friend." Bellamy grinned. "He loathed me at first. Here he was trying to do his job, and I'd just clear out and leave the aurors behind."

"You still do that, if you choose," said Dieter.

"I'm very careful these days," replied Bellamy. "I don't think there's been so many trying to kill me since I first left school." A frown crossed his face. "What bothers me is the fear they might go for my family. I'd let them kill me if it was the only way to rescue Susan or Pat."

"Wizards wouldn't do a thing like that!" declared Dieter. "We're not barbarians!"

"Wizards are often barbarians," said Bellamy calmly, "But luckily that particular sort of barbarism doesn't seem to be a part of the culture." They talked a long time that evening, most of it while in the spa.

He slept well. The nightmares that had plagued him for most of his life were rare these days. Work was routine, and Graham made no objection to him apparating home the following day. Jeremy asked him the standard question, How did he apparate so far, and Bellamy gave the standard answer - that it was easy enough done in stages. The older ones knew perfectly well that he didn't do it in stages, but said nothing. He could pretend to himself that he still had a few secrets if he chose.

Tuesday night, he was home, and it was Pat who shared a spa with him. It wasn't talking he had in mind, but Pat protested that they couldn't do anything like that in front of Susan. And Susan was indeed watching from her place close, looking far too wise for her age.

It was not until a couple of evenings later that Pat asked specifically about his other room-mates on the Costa Rivera. He showed her Taddeo and Silvio, cavorting in the pool. And again, the image was blurred. She commented, but he said that he would have been swimming, too, and he wouldn't have been wearing his glasses in the pool in any case.

"They were only in their early twenties, identical twins, and they were always happy, always laughing. They hugged a lot."

"Were they good to you, too?"

"They were all very good to me."

"Others?"

"There were also Nino and Mario." But his clearest picture of Nino was of him playing with his hair. And when he thought of Mario, it was not of his appearance, but rather it was the feeling of the great comfort of having his big furry body close to his own. He wasn't sure that he'd ever tell Pat that, although he knew that she was a brilliant woman, with a great understanding.

Again on the weekend, he searched for hidden places. And this time he found a large property that looked totally neglected, as if it had been forgotten for a century or more. He walked the property a long time, searching, looking for signs of bags of gold. But he had the feeling no human had been there for years. He brought back Bruce and Homer, and the three of them wandered and searched.

Bellamy suddenly said, "I know what it reminds me of - I've got an old painting of a landscape. I'm sure this is it."

Homer whistled, and Bruce and Bellamy went to see what he'd found. Bellamy stared a long time at the skeleton of an enormous snake. "It's Nagini," he finally said. "This was the home of Voldemort, the most famous dark wizard of them all."

"We did him in history," said Bruce, awed. "Are you sure?"

Bellamy nodded. "It has to be. It's hidden, and no-one could ever find him, and he had a snake friend." He looked at Bruce. "Do you want me to take the spells off, or will that cause problems with Medjkind?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. "Best leave it for now."

Bellamy cast his eyes around again. "It might not be easy, Voldemort was a very powerful wizard, and the spells are so old."

"Will you be able to find it again?"

"Of course," said Bellamy, "And brace yourselves, I might just take off the anti-apparation spells so you can apparate back in as soon as it's no longer hidden."

He put a hand to his shirt, and then asked if he could borrow a wand. Dieter smiled, and handed over his wand. Bellamy raised it, and after a moment, a tingling was felt in the air. "That's done," he said, casually, and returned the wand. "Easier than I thought." He reckoned he'd done a good day's work then, and went home.

He showed Silvio and Taddeo to Pat again when she asked. He showed her the pair laughing in a street somewhere, and then another image, a clear one. Taddeo was looking very worried. "I'd slipped the leash," he commented. "After I went for a swim the first time, they kept a very close guard on me."

Pat stared, but Bellamy was looking uncomfortable, and only showed her the pair again, sitting close on a couch, and watching a film. "They were always watching films, but never read a book." And then he showed them again, laughing hilariously, and playing leapfrog along the crew deck. "They were good at playing."

He was quiet a while, and Pat was quiet too. She thought she'd get more from him if she didn't push. Finally, Bellamy said, as if casually, "They used to play with each other all the time - sexually I mean. They said they'd been doing it together since they were thirteen."

And then he rolled over in the spa, and suddenly he was in a position to kiss. Susan had been left in the care of Kitty for an hour, although it was Margaret who watched the baby possessively, hoping she'd wake up so that she'd have an excuse to do something.

Pat stayed awake late that night, in bed with her husband, wanting to stroke a little, but reluctant to disturb him. Had it been the twins, then? But he spoke of them with affection. Maybe it was one of those he'd scarcely spoken of, Nino or Mario.

In the next few days, he avoided speaking of that time at all, and told her about Voldemort instead. There had been a book, and she already knew the cause of the zigzag scar on his forehead. But Bellamy knew a lot that wasn't in the book, and sometimes what he said was not what the book said. It was so long ago, and it was still so hard to believe that it was the same man whom she'd married that had lived in those days.

Work finished, and Bellamy had a break for a while. He hadn't been definite, and Don knew only that he'd be told when he was ready to start again.

***chapter end***


	52. Chapter 52

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 21_

Again, in five mile steps, Bellamy searched for a treasure. He asked Pat what he should do with it if he found it. She shrugged. "Give it to whatever African country's having the most recent famine?"

He came home tired every night, and when he soaked in the spa in the evening, he only rested his head back against the headrest, and looked weary. He started having nightmares again, terrible nightmares that left him shaking, quite unable to settle down until he'd walked off the quivering nerves. Xander always walked with him, but made up for it by sleeping most of the day.

He had a feeling, and slowed down his search, going over and over the same area, in smaller and smaller apparations. It was in Wales, and he found several hidden areas, but all of them had the feeling of incredibly ancient magic. A cave, for instance, that looked to have a blocked entrance, but when he felt, it was only an illusion. Inside there was a bier, and remnants of a skeleton. It was not what he sought, and he left it alone.

There were other hidden places, sacred places. And there was another stash of alcohol - acid brandies this time. And Bellamy watched in amusement as a red-faced man came furtively from a small home and removed a bottle for use. He widened his search again, but the area was marked on the map. If he had to, he'd come back.

On Pat's insistence, he was doing fewer hours of searching in a day. The nightmares eased off once he was no longer as tired. And again, he started talking. He showed her Nino one day, just working, stacking boxes. But he showed her his face, at first the blurred images she was accustomed to, and then a laughing, exultant look, clear as crystal. "I had my glasses. He thought it was miraculous. And of course, I could read, then. They'd always thought I was illiterate."

They were sitting close together in the spa. And he gave her something else. "He loved to play with my hair. It was long then, and he'd shampoo it, and dry it, and comb it. I think I even remember him putting it in plaits once."

"He sounds a little feminine."

"He had a sensitivity," said Bellamy, "And he was smaller than the others," and then he grinned. "He was always the most eager to save up enough money to go to a brothel as often as possible."

"Did they take you to a brothel?"

Bellamy shrugged. "I doubt if they even thought of it. They looked on me as an innocent boy."

"You probably thought that you weren't allowed to go with women anyway."

"Probably," agreed Bellamy.

"Taddeo, Silvio, the twins. And then there were Bruno and Angelo, who liked to take you on excursions. Nino who liked to play with your hair. You haven't told me about Mario."

"No, I haven't."

Pat had her arm around his shoulders, and squeezed a little tighter. "You can tell me what you want, you know," she said, very softly.

Bellamy kissed her, and rose, dripping from the water. "Let's get dressed, and I'll raid the kitchen for some ice-cream."

The day after Peter arrived home from school for the long summer holidays, Bellamy announced that he was having a couple of days off, and invited Peter to join him for a long ride, west this time, to the west coast, and staying at a motel overnight before returning. He wished he could take Pat, but Pat was still not keen on riding, and, of course, she had a baby to limit movements. So Peter and the boss rode gently along country roads, a third horse behind them, to carry some horse feed, and a few provisions for themselves. Their spirits were high, and they raced whenever the landscape permitted, laughing their pleasure.

They didn't find accommodation accustomed to coping with horses, so settled down to sleep outside instead, on conjured mattresses, with conjured blankets, as the horses grazed close by. It was a warm summer's night, and they were far enough away from cities that the stars burned bright. "This would be the way to search," said Bellamy. "As soon as I know roughly where it is, I should take a horse, and do it this way."

"Do you think you'll find it?" asked Peter.

"I think I have to try very hard. The reward's too big. Wizards who'd never put a foot out of line if things were normal, can't help themselves. The temptation's too great."

"There were not many seventh year Slytherins left to graduate this year."

"Katrina was terribly upset with Tristan. If I didn't exist, he would never have been tempted." But Peter pointed out that if Bellamy didn't exist, then neither would Tristan, Katrina, Therese or his mother, or himself.

Bellamy grinned at him, "Good point!"

Pat was watching for them, when they came back, and again, they raced, hurtling on Shasta and Jester as fast as they could around the perimeter track, the bay gelding they'd used as a packhorse following them before deciding not to be so silly, and trotting back to nuzzle Pat instead. She caressed his ears and murmured to him. His name was Josh.

The following day, Bellamy started searching Cornwall. He was leaving the London area until last. He thought it less likely, and their information indicated that it was in the North Country somewhere, possibly the Lakes District, but he'd searched that area first.

In Cornwall, he found some open mines left as traps. The spells shielded them from view, so that people and animals could stumble into them and never be found. Bellamy frowned a long time. But when he felt and lifted the spells, they were so old. There would be no-one left to punish. Instead he surrounded each of the three mines with warning signs and solid fences, although conjured, and put enchantments on them so that Medjkind would accept that they'd always been there. He even put a suggestion on them so that the medj owner would decide to double insure with a second fence around each dangerous hole. His conjures didn't last forever.

By the end of that day, he was able to mark off another large area of the map. But he'd overtired himself again, and Pat saw him again that night, white-faced and shaking after a nightmare.

He gave himself a day off, after, and wandered into his workshop, suddenly remembering the Leixtrium. He hadn't given it a thought since the day Susan was born. But now he had an idea, forgot his fatigue, and worked for hours. Halfway through the next day, Alison found him there, a broad smile of satisfaction on his face. He told her what it was, announced that it was the secretary's job to think of a name for it, and asked if she knew how to organise manufacture and sale of a new invention.

Alison smiled at him. "I'll find out," and she looked at the dog that lay across the doorway again. "Call it Xander, after the dog."

Bellamy grinned. Devising a name for something was always the hardest part. "Xander," he said with satisfaction, and Xander pricked his ears.

But Alison had come for a reason. He'd had too long a break, and they wanted him to do two days work in London. "Two children, two pumpkin-heads from Germany, and no doubt many others," said Alison.

"Tell them I'll do tomorrow and the next day, then," said Bellamy.

The next day, he cured two children, and then there were to be the pumpkin-heads. Dieter was still the auror whose chief duty was to watch over Bellamy, and he said, "They're the first pumpkin-heads since Italy."

Bellamy nodded, "Thank goodness it's so rare." Heather was the auror on duty, but Dieter sent Ryde in as well, and himself took Ryde's place in the waiting room area. Dieter wasn't as fast as he used to be.

"I've learned how to make the barrier," Heather said, with a touch of pride. The particular barrier Bellamy wanted was transparent, and would yield somewhat, but not give way. The idea was that a frantic patient would not hurt himself, but could not escape until calm.

The monster was led in. "Two days ago," mentioned Graham. Heather made the barrier. Bellamy's special skills to make an area more transparent to telepathy were not needed any more, as it seemed he was good enough to do without, these days.

Bellamy looked unseeing at the wall, as he started to concentrate. After a moment, he closed his eyes. It always helped. It didn't take long to pull the man out of the monster, but Bellamy continued to concentrate, eyes closed, striving to calm the berserk wizard.

Xander watched from his place beside Graham, where he'd been put. The aurors, as always, had their wands out ready, just in case. Heather's instructions kicked in, the barrier was vanished, a knife was suddenly hovering in front of the patient, and Bellamy was tripped, so that he fell, interrupting concentration. The berserk man threw himself on top of Bellamy, the large knife raised, ready for the kill. But Xander flew at the man, and Ryde, half an instant later, stunned him. Just another close call. Bellamy had a minor cut on his chest, and a headache from the sudden interruption. Xander was lavished with praise, from Bellamy, from Heather, and from Ryde. He sat tall next to the boss, and wore a very pleased expression.

Heather's instructions were forgotten until the next time, and there had been no sign that the magic had come from her. The wands had already been raised, and the incantations, three of them, had been non verbal.

Graham treated the bleeding cut, and Bellamy used a touch of magic to mend his shirt. But he was feeling with his senses. The man who'd attacked him was wheeled out, but Bellamy held out his hand for the knife that Ryde picked up. It was like a signature, and he looked at Heather. "Sorry, Heather," he said. "Someone's got at you."

Heather looked at him in blank surprise. "I know I wasn't as quick as Ryde, but no-one's got at me."

Bellamy looked at the almost opaque screen behind which the observers sat. But Julia was already entering the room. Bellamy leaned against the wall, waiting for the attack of trembling to pass. He was rubbing his forehead, too. It always hurt his head when he was interrupted like that.

"Bellamy?" asked Julia. "Did you say that it was Heather's doing?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Not her doing, exactly, just the same sort of delayed instructions that those French aurors had." And he looked at Heather. "I'm sorry, Heather, but you're probably still primed to attack as soon as another similar situation arises."

Poor Heather stared at the floor. In the viewing gallery, two Germans who'd been escorting the pumpkin-heads watched in fascination. Abruptly, Bellamy rose from his chair, and all senses alert, scanned the aurors, the waiting patients, and then opened the door to the observation room. He appeared to be only politely introducing himself, but the observers were also checked. It seemed that anyone could be a threat.

Julia was speaking to Heather, who now looked rather pale and sick. "Take off the spell?" asked Bellamy, calmly.

Heather nodded. A wand was briefly raised, and then Julia took Heather off for more detailed questioning. Perhaps the culprit could be discovered. Jeremy took the place of Heather as the next pumpkin-head was led in.

Ryde conjured the barrier this time, and Bellamy went to work again. The patient was kept calm, and the sharp knife that had previously been put into his pocket, was not used. Bellamy had a lot of enemies.

The rest of the day was uneventful, and Bellamy returned home. He mentioned the attack to Pat, but it was almost routine. The aurors had fended off other attacks that Bellamy hadn't even known about, although Dieter liked to keep Pat informed. The routine precautions continued to be taken, especially when in wizarding areas. Bellamy had made it known, for instance, that he would not be taking anything to eat or drink at any public gathering - more to prevent others from being accidentally poisoned than for worry for himself. He'd almost stopped going to public gatherings in any case. And these days, for the first time in his life, he told the aurors if they should expect him. The bodyguards had mostly, previously, been unwanted. But now he cooperated with them.

Susan was fretful, and Pat held her on her knee. "It's nothing," she said. "Ursula said that babies just get a bit cross sometimes, though she's a bit young to be teething. She just needs more cuddles than usual."

Bellamy smiled, and reached out his hands for his daughter. "Can I have a cuddle for a while?" The tired, red-faced child was placed in his hands. He settled her, she snuggled in, and went to sleep.

Pat said, "Esme told me once, that a baby could never have too many cuddles, that cuddles are more important than anything. She said that cuddles are food for the soul."

"They _are_ food for the soul," Bellamy said. "It's what allowed me to come back from the lost years - I was given an awful lot of cuddling."

"Your cabin-mates?"

"Every time that Nino played with my hair, it was a caress. Bruno used to pull me close and give me a squeeze, just because I was there. All of them. It helped that I had regular meals, of course. I was always worse when half starved, but it was the constant touching, the cuddles, that brought me back."

Pat gave him a kiss. He'd just told her more than he ever had, just out of the blue.

Ursula and Margaret watched the baby later, for an hour, while they went for a spa. But Susan only slept, and after a while, Margaret slipped out into the darkness, and talked to the two ponies close to the house. She would have liked to make sparks in the air again with her wand, but she'd been sternly rebuked for that. Magical sparks might attract attention.

Pat sat close to her husband in the spa. "Why would you have been half starved?" she queried. "You told me you had a full moneybelt."

"I never remembered it, and even when I had money in my wallet, I often forgot to eat. It was like I no longer felt the need. Sex, too. I just didn't feel the need."

Pat squeezed him. She was sure now. There had been sex, probably with Mario whom he still hadn't spoken of.

***chapter end***


	53. Chapter 53

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 22_

There was an enemy a lot more dangerous than a few teenagers, now active. He had three helpers, as he far preferred to wait in the background himself. Only one of his helpers could perform the Death Curse, which took practice, and each successful practice left a dead body, which didn't always go unnoticed. But Cilius Malfoy, the uncle of Haslett, had been reading _'A Medical Biography.'_ Blood replenishing potion never worked with Bellamy. And the spell that Cilius taught his helper, made a wound that ordinary magic could not overcome. The third wizard would attack Bellamy's head, rendering him unable to help himself. Those two spells didn't make a streak of light, as the Death Curse did, so Bellamy would be less likely to see them in time to avoid or deflect them.

Bellamy had decided to start apparating straight to the workroom, although he usually preferred not to remind people that he could ignore anti-apparation magic. He might still live a long time, and people might forget if he didn't remind them. But Pat had a last minute request, that Xander should be left with her as additional protection for when she went shopping.

Bellamy put down his dog, told him to go to Pat, forgot his intention to avoid the Atrium, and arrived in the usual place, at the expected time. Three wizards waited, ready. The green streak of the Death Curse called up an instinctive response, and was batted to the ground, but two other spells hit him, one on his head, and the other slashed a wicked wound across his chest. The culprits disapparated instantly, without waiting to see the results of their actions, too fast to be brought down by Heather and Scott, who waited for Bellamy. An innocent witch was accidentally stunned by Scott.

Bellamy sprawled unconscious, lying on his back and bleeding heavily, still in the apparation zone. A clerk raced for one of the Ministry healers, but Scott didn't wait. All aurors are taught basic first aid, and Scott said the incantation that was supposed to stop the bleeding. There was no effect.

Young Healer Pertwee arrived at the run, and he, too, tried to stop the bleeding. Graham arrived. Tony Pertwee looked up in relief at the experienced healer. "I can't stop the bleeding."

Graham made his own spell, and when it didn't work, said, "It's the Hendrix Curse."

Tony held a sensor device to Bellamy's forehead. "He's very deeply unconscious." He tried a spell that was supposed to revive him. There was no effect.

"It's more than just a stunning," said Graham, keeping his head.

He looked at Julia who'd just arrived and spoke urgently, "Get Pat. He just might wake for Pat."

Julia nodded, and turned to Dianne, hurrying toward them.

Graham and Tony used a portion of Bellamy's cape to press hard against the wounds, trying to slow the bleeding by physical means. There was blood everywhere now. Bellamy's clothing was soaked, and there was a spreading pool where he lay. Graham was talking to him, insistently, loudly, clearly. "Bellamy, you've got to wake up. Only you can stop this bleeding." Again and again. "Wake up, Bellamy. Don't let them win."

Dianne Abercrombie appeared in the apparation zone on Bellamy's property. A redheaded child streaked toward her, riding a pony, and aiming her wand. Several dogs barked loudly, and Katrina was approaching at the run. Her wand was drawn, too. Margaret pulled her pony to a halt, almost on top of Dianne. Dianne spoke urgently, "My name's Dianne Abercrombie. Bellamy's badly hurt, and we need Pat straightaway."

Margaret hesitated, then wheeled her pony and raced for the house. She was at the house by the time Katrina arrived at the apparation zone. Pat came out of the house, swung a leg over another pony, and galloped to join Dianne and Katrina.

There was very little delay, and Pat was by the side of Bellamy, who'd been pulled a little away from the apparation zone. Graham looked up with relief. "He might wake up for you. Only Bellamy himself can fix this bleeding, but we think there's been some sort of a stun spell as well."

Pat knelt at the side of her husband, ignoring the blood soiling her clothing. She took his hand, and started to talk, insistently, just as Graham had been doing. He had to wake up. He wasn't allowed to sleep. He had to wake up. A slight frown crossed his face. Pat continued with the insistent command.

Bellamy frowned again, and complained, quite clearly, but without opening his eyes, "I can't wake up, they hit my head!"

But Pat told him that it didn't matter, he had to wake up, and fix the bleeding.

Tony still held a sensor device to his forehead. "Graham?" he said.

Graham looked at the monitor. It still indicated a very deep state of unconsciousness. But there were spikes, sudden fluctuations, as Pat insisted that he wake up.

At last, Bellamy opened his eyes, "What?" in a complaining tone.

"You have to fix the bleeding. You have a wound."

Bellamy rolled his head slightly, fretfully. Graham said urgently, "It's the Hendrix Curse, Bellamy. Fix the bleeding."

Bellamy frowned, and closed his eyes again.

Tony said, relieved, "I think he might have done it." Carefully, they pulled away the blood-sodden cape from the wound. The area was cleaned with a spell, and Graham ran his hand down a slight furrow across the chest.

There was a lessening of tension. An audience surrounded them now, watched alertly by Heather, Scott and Ryde. Tony used another monitor. "He's still critical," he said worriedly.

Graham looked at the figures, and said, "I've seen him almost as bad, and he's come back without trouble. I'm more worried about his head. I don't know what they've done."

Pat stood, casting a look around. "He's going to get better, and he would hate to be watched right now." The wizards and witches looked at the tall woman, and only one thought disdainfully that she was just a muggle. Most of them drew back, but few of them left.

A group of wizards who'd been waiting for his attention muttered among themselves. "Critical," one repeated the healer's words. If Bellamy died, that one would always have the unattractive face of a pig. Another went to scratch his nose, and nearly stabbed himself in the eye with a curving thorn that grew from his wrist. They supposed they might as well go home. It was obvious that he wasn't going to be doing any healing today.

Bellamy may have been critical, but the wizard hospital was not safe for him. He was taken home, and Graham, with Dianne's full approval, would stay as long as required to help care for him.

Ursula was a qualified nurse, and Archie or Sidney could help lift when needed. Graham said that he'd lost a lot too much blood, but Pat knew that it was the head injury he was most concerned about. Again and again, he put sensor devices to his head, and looked worried.

They'd discussed it a long time ago, but now Pat saw the spells that Ursula and Graham used, just to get a little water into him. He was too deeply unconscious to take food, and Graham said to Pat not to try and wake him yet. He might make the effort for her, but it could do harm. They would just wait. Bellamy was in his own bed, and Pat had not stopped sharing it just because he was ill. If it did get wet or messy, as he continued unconscious, Ursula could fix it very easily with a spell, just the same as she cleaned Susan's nappy sometimes.

It was early morning, four days after the attack, and Ursula had only a half hour ago dried and cleaned a wet spot in the bed, and Graham had made a couple of quick checks.

Pat looked at her husband. He lay on his side, as they'd put him. He was getting far too thin, she thought, and Graham had admitted they didn't know how to heal the damage to his head. Perhaps, this time, he would die. Pat was showered and dressed, but she slipped back into bed anyway, and cuddled against his back, putting her arm possessively around his waist. She lay quietly like that a long time.

Graham poked his head in, and went back to the lounge-room. There was nothing to do but wait. He picked up his book, 'A Medical Biography,' although he'd read it years ago, the moment he found out about it. As Esme Rutherford had said, the great wizard had a unique physiology. It was very interesting. But Bellamy was his friend, too, and Graham was worried.

Bellamy woke. He felt a great contentment. It was his wife, who loved him and held him, and he was reminded of another who'd loved him and held him like that. Pat hadn't realised he was awake, and jumped when he quietly spoke to her. "Mario used to hold me like this, all night, every night."

He turned to her, surprised to find himself so weak. He raised a hand and touched his face, and then raised both hands, and he was clean shaven. "I don't remember what happened," he said.

Pat smiled at him. "You've been ill."

Bellamy said that was pretty obvious, and pulled himself to the side of his bed, sitting for a moment, as his head swam. "I need a shower," he muttered to himself, and lay down again, frowning and closing his eyes.

Pat gently stroked his forehead. He was asleep again, but Pat went to find Graham.

Graham smiled all over his face when he looked at the results on his monitors, even though Bellamy still slept. "I think he'll be fine," he said.

Pat stroked his forehead again, possessively, before going to Susan, currently in the care of Margaret.

Bellamy woke again a couple of hours later, saw that he was alone, and used the opportunity to sneak off for a shower. He'd been sick before, and knew his nurses were apt to try and prevent him doing that. He was very shaky, and relied on an instantly conjured cane. No-one rebuked him, and he found that his bed had been freshly made with clean sheets when he returned - properly laundered sheets, he could tell from the smell of sunshine on them, not just sheets that had been cleaned with magic. But he was already very tired again, and his eyes were closing even before Graham completed his checks. It wouldn't take long probably, but right now, he only wanted to sleep.

A few days later, he sat outside in the sunshine. He was still thin and weak, but improving every day. Young Margaret sauntered up to him. Without preliminaries, she stated, "I saved your life, you know!"

Bellamy smiled at her. "They told me. You were very quick, you didn't attack the wrong person, and you told Pat straightaway. You did very well indeed."

Margaret smiled. She thought she'd done well, too, and Margaret was one who would always like to be appreciated. She surveyed the boss. "You're too thin!" she announced. "I'm going to bring you a snack and you have to eat it."

Bellamy grinned wryly. But that was all right. He was hungry. Five minutes later, the little girl returned, now accompanied by Peter and by Ursula.

Ursula twinkled at him. "Margaret made it," she said. Bellamy looked at the wonky birthday cake, and told Margaret how clever she was.

Luckily Peter was happy to share the cake - Bellamy suspected that Margaret may have left out an ingredient. And she watched him far too closely to get away with vanishing a portion.

"I have to go and help Pat learn to ride now," Margaret announced, when he'd eaten enough to satisfy her, and a little later, Bellamy saw Pat and Margaret, Pat riding the bay gelding, Josh, Margaret on her pony.

Later that evening, Bellamy mentioned to Pat that he'd like to more thoroughly inspect that particular area of Wales on horseback. Pat smiled, "What do you think I've been on Josh so much for? I want to come with you."

Bellamy was surprised, "What about Susan?"

"Well, Archie, Peter, and Paul all ride well, and Victor, of course, and if we took one or more of those, you men can take turns holding her as we ride."

Bellamy smiled at his wife. "If you and Susan come with me, we can just keep going till we find it. I have a feeling that it's in that small area of Wales. And I'm not fit enough to apparate all around London at the moment anyway."

"It's the Pluravista on Saturday night," said Pat, "And while I'm not the special guest, I've promised Alison I'd go with her."

"Taking Therese or Katrina?"

"Therese. She can apparate with me. Sidney and Kitty are going, too, and Sidney has the potential to work magic without a wand in an emergency."

Bellamy was satisfied. The organisers didn't know to expect the wife of the great wizard, but would probably be happy to see her. Pat had won a lot of respect in the wizarding world, far more than she'd ever had in her own world, except for that small circle of intellectuals that she'd been a part of.

Bellamy staggered a little as he rose, but claimed he'd be fine by Sunday, and they'd leave then.

That night, as the hot water bubbled around them in the spa, he built up a picture of Mario for her. "He was so _kind_," he said. "I think it was the great quality about him - he was kind." The blurry edged picture showed a blunt, plain face, with black hair rather untidy. "He was big, and furry like a bear."

Pat looked at the man whom she thought had had a sexual relationship with her husband. "He slept with you?"

"One night, they told me I'd be sleeping in the double bed on the floor, and Mario got in with me, and wrapped an arm around me. It felt so good to me. Such a feeling of comfort and warmth." Pat was quiet, and Bellamy answered part of her question; "He never had sex with me in bed." He continued. "I never thought about it at the time, but it must have been difficult for him. But he just held me in his arms, loved me, and shared his warmth."

"The others had sex?"

"With each other, all the time, nearly always out of my sight."

"The six of them?"

"They paired off a bit, but it was never exclusive. Bruno and Angelo for instance, often went together, and Mario and Nino, and the twins with each other."

Pat nearly asked, but then left it. And Bellamy only showed her images of his special friend, most blurred, one very blurred, telling him persuasively that he had to eat, but then there was another one, quite clear, and Mario looked at him baffled. "I was translating, I think, and he could never quite comprehend that his simple boy could speak so many languages."

Saturday night, Pat went with Kitty and Sidney to the Pluravista, without incident, except that Pat found many freshly qualified witches and wizards introduced to her whether or not she was the honoured guest. Dianne, as the Minister for Magic, was the honoured guest, and Pat was able to tell her that Bellamy was recovering quickly now.

***chapter end***


	54. Chapter 54

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 23_

Sunday, Victor and Peter loaded six horses into two horse boxes. Peter, Victor, Bellamy and Pat would be riding, and there would be two packhorses. Xander ran about them, barking excitedly. He was going, though no other dogs were. Margaret watched with a scowl on her face. She thought she should be allowed to go, too.

An hour after they left, Graham appeared to check on his patient. Bellamy had already announced that he was better, and there was no need for him any more, but Graham didn't agree.

Prior arrangements had been made, and the vehicles were left at a friend of Victor's, who lived in the desired area. Peter and Victor shared the baby for most of the first days, and after some initial puzzlement, Susan took to it beautifully. All day, as they rode, she was held, and it seemed that she enjoyed watching the countryside from her high perch. Xander might have felt a responsibility, as he tended to stay close to whichever rider held the baby.

Pat was still breastfeeding, and there were regular stops. Bellamy needed them, too, as he was still a long way from fully fit.

Even on the first day, they found another hidden place, but it was just a tiny shrine, with a little statue of a stout and frowning god.

At night, Bellamy conjured tents and beds for everybody, as nobody else's conjures were likely to last the night. Regular food supplies were bought when they passed through a town. Their clothes were cleaned by magic, although they all had a wash if water was available. Pat and Bellamy always had a tent, simply so they could make love. Victor would look at the silent tent knowingly, but when he hinted something to young Peter, the teenager was acutely embarrassed.

But it wasn't only to conceal the sounds of sex that Pat and Bellamy needed a silencing shield. At last, Bellamy was telling her about the sex that had occurred on the Costa Rivera. He made no images now, only related quietly how he'd been taken to the spa. That they'd gone very slowly, never hurting, never frightening. "I must have known somewhere inside me what they were leading up to," he said, "But they were loving me, and I desperately needed that loving."

"There's nothing wrong with having sex with a man if that's what you wanted," Pat said calmly.

Bellamy was quiet a long time. "They said it was just a small thing, that I'd be making them very happy. I wanted to make them happy. They looked after me, and they cared very much for me."

"So what happened?" prompted Pat.

"I think it might have been several weeks leading up to it, and I never revolted, or pulled back, or resisted what they were doing - or not that I remember."

"So what happened?" asked Pat, again.

"Well, one night, they just did it, and I wasn't hurt in the slightest. And I was surrounded by love and caring."

And he was silent for a while, again. "It hurt me, somewhere deep. I couldn't do it for them, and they were my friends, and I couldn't fight them. I can scarcely remember the next week or so. I don't think it lasted long, and they stopped."

"Did they know it was upsetting you?"

"I guess, but I just don't really remember. I know I never fought them. And I needed them. I think I might have stopped eating. I think I remember Mario being worried and upset. And once Bruno swore at me. But it's all very blurry."

"And then what?"

Bellamy turned to her and started stroking. "I don't want you to condemn them. They gave me love, all of them. They never, ever physically hurt me, and they did it among themselves all the time. I don't know myself why it should have upset me so much. It's only sex, and even if it had hurt, it wasn't much to ask of me."

Pat was silent. She was condemning. No matter what he said, he'd been defenceless, and they'd done something to him he didn't want. But now he was stroking, and she had to reassure. She thought that he was worried that she would think the less of him. So she made the moves that started the game of love. She loved him, too, and she would never, ever, do anything that would hurt him.

In the morning, the few necessary supplies were loaded back on the packhorses, bedding and tents were vanished, and the riders mounted. Bellamy took Susan for an hour that morning. He was a little stronger every day, seeming to thrive as much on the days outdoors as his little daughter, who laughed and chortled, and liked to pull the beard of Victor.

Jester didn't quite understand that his rider wasn't fit enough to gallop and race, though, and stamped his foot as Victor and Peter raced down a grassy bridle track. He even trotted a little on the spot. "In a few days," Bellamy soothed, and asked Victor if he'd like to ride him a while, and himself rode the solid black horse that belonged to Victor. Brewster wasn't worried that he didn't get to race, and Victor enjoyed the ride on Jester. At least he enjoyed the ride on Jester until the horse decided that he might like to play as Bellamy liked to play. But Bellamy whistled, and the skewbald stopped bucking, and went more quietly again.

That day, Bellamy looked intently to the side, and Brewster stopped. Susan was handed to Peter, and Bellamy slipped off the horse. The others waited, expectant. But he only leaned against a tree for a while, looking across the landscape. Pat had a detailed map, and he asked to see it. Deviating from their methodical search, they turned into a tiny track that led further north.

Another hidden place, another spooky cave. But it was only a few pieces of ancient treasure - a large, shallow bowl, ornately decorated, and what he thought had to be a sceptre. A jewelled tiara, too. He told the others what he'd found, but told them also that they shouldn't enter. There were some powerful and ancient spells in that cave.

"Well, why don't you break them then?"

Bellamy shrugged. "They're other people's secrets. Let them lie."

There were more secrets around that area, and Bellamy left the others, and did some apparations all around, only about a quarter mile at a time. But the few other ancient hiding places he found were empty.

Late in the day, he broke an ancient spell as he couldn't enter otherwise, but had to use the strong magic, and was then too tired to be safe apparating. He trudged very wearily back to his people, whom he could sense in the distance. They were not so far, but he lay flat when he got back, and Pat watched him worriedly. He cocked an eyebrow at her when she woke him for dinner, and said, "Graham would be going crook about now. He doesn't approve when I make myself too tired."

Pat didn't think she approved either, especially when he cried out in the night, and started to panic only because there was the tent wall too close. He woke Susan, too, who had to be fed and pacified before she went back to sleep.

Meantime, Bellamy walked along the road, back the way he'd come. Xander watched him go, but then lay down close to Peter, whom he'd been honouring with his company the last few nights.

Even two hours later, when Bellamy returned, he wasn't ready to go back to sleep, but conjured himself one of his easy chairs and made a campfire.

Peter slept soundly, but after a while, Victor joined him, and asked for a chair, too. Victor had no power of magic. They talked a long time that night, mostly about horses. Victor thought they should have another couple of smaller horses, like Jedda and Toby. He'd been impressed with the way that Margaret had been able to race and grab Pat when she was needed. He'd been told that Bellamy would certainly have died if Pat hadn't arrived so quickly.

"It must be strange," Victor said, "to have people trying to kill you all the time."

"I take it for granted these days," said Bellamy. "There's been intervals sometimes when no-one tried too hard, but nearly always, someone seems to want me dead."

Greatly daring, Victor asked, "Is that what you have nightmares about?"

Bellamy was surprised. The people who surrounded him tended to be tactfully silent when he betrayed his fears by having a nightmare. But he answered. "I have nightmares about being imprisoned, helpless for some reason. People have tried to do that to me, too, now and then."

Victor said, "We've got a few chocolate bars stowed away somewhere, if you'd like one.

"Yes, please," quickly, but it came from where Peter was supposedly sleeping. Finally, after his chocolate, Bellamy rose and stretched, and ducked into his tent again. There was a little sleepy murmuring, and then Victor smiled at the abrupt cessation of all sound from the tent.

Bellamy slept late the next morning, but he was the boss, there was no time limit, and the others just sat around, and talked, as Susan scrambled around happily in the thick grass, and Xander searched for rabbits, but didn't seem to know what to do about it when he found one.

When they finally resumed their ride, Peter took Susan, and he and Victor cantered ahead, Victor riding Jester again, Xander behind them. Pat and Bellamy just walked, and Bellamy started talking again. There was no-one around, and he conjured an image - Mario, wearing only swimmers, furry, like a bear. Big, soft around the middle. In his early thirties or thereabouts. And Bellamy said, in a tone of wonder, "I think he loved me from the first. I thought he couldn't have done really, because he never knew me. But he did know me. He knew me, and he loved me. And I may not have known it at the time, but I loved him. It was love that brought me back. They all gave me a measure of love, but Mario loved, fully and genuinely."

Pat said, "But he raped you."

Bellamy sighed, and replied, "He loved me, and he raped me."

"You said they stopped."

Bellamy paused, looking around, almost as if he scented the air. But it was nothing, and he went on. "They stopped for a while, and then I'm pretty sure they did it again."

"_All _of them," said Pat, horrified.

"They never hurt me," said Bellamy, "And I can't actually remember, but I think they drugged me, and then, the next day, I suddenly knew I wanted to go ashore, and that was the first time I dived overboard and started swimming."

Pat was silent, horrified. And finally, in a very quiet voice, "How could they have cared for you, and have done a thing like that?"

"They wanted me, and they took too much care to make it a long and gentle seduction. I think they just couldn't bear to give it up without a fight."

Pat was quiet, trying to understand. Bellamy went on. "Anyway, they stopped the ship, and Mario was on the boat that came searching, and he called me, and I went back to him."

"Did it all come out then?"

"I think I was in trouble," and he made a picture in the air again, but it was misty, and seemed to come and go, two men in officers' uniforms, and a woman, who could have been the doctor. And there were voices, accusing, battering. "That's how I remember it, but I didn't like it when people asked questions, and they were probably perfectly patient and kind, as they mostly were."

"You didn't tell them anything?"

Bellamy looked blindly at the pleasant countryside they passed, the tall horses gently walking, the two packhorses following. "I told you I was a pretty pathetic object in those days. I don't really know what I said and did, except that I was so relieved when Mario came for me. Mario would look after me and things would be all right again."

Pat reached across from Josh, and touched her husband on the arm. He looked back at her, and she saw that his eyes were wet. Xander suddenly joined them then, and when they looked ahead, they saw that Victor and Peter had found a small clearing, and had dismounted for a break. Pat gave Susan a feed, leaning with her back to a tree, and Bellamy again felt his eyes wet. His wife and child had such a beauty. He was so lucky to have his family.

He hadn't finished his story, and that night, he started again, the silencing shield in place in the tiny, enclosed world of the conjured tent. "Afterwards, they asked if I wanted my own bed, and I was terrified that I wouldn't be allowed to sleep with Mario any more. I needed him, more than ever. He gave comfort. He did sleep with me that night, and every night I was on the Costa Rivera."

"Did they have sex with you again?"

"They still cuddled and hugged, and I needed that. But they never even had sex in front of me." Bellamy smiled, a touch sadly. "I still slept with Mario, both of us naked. And sometimes, at night, I'd hear him begging Nino or Bruno for sex. It seems I was untouchable, but it was very difficult for him." He grinned suddenly. "He tried Angelo, once, as both Nino and Bruno were doing some sort of night job, but only got soundly sworn at."

Pat laughed, and Bellamy was relieved. She'd been taking it too seriously.

Bellamy had now told Pat about the thing that had upset him enough that he'd dived overboard, without thought or planning. It was like it helped him think or maybe feel. And in the morning, he said that there was to be a change of plan. From now on, he was just following his instincts. And he thought he had to go further north.

For days, they travelled further north-east, right out of Wales, and into a more rugged area, an area that Bellamy had already searched without result. After four days travelling, following Bellamy's instincts, they walked slowly, single file, along a narrow road, with stone walls too close alongside. Bellamy whistled to Peter and Justin who rode ahead, and wheeled to the right, through a gap in the stone wall. It was a rise, and Jester strained to jump out of the road that was sunken in comparison to the land around. Maybe it was an ancient way. Bellamy held tight to Susan, who looked around in interest. When the six horses had climbed out of the roadway, Bellamy glanced at the wall, which repaired its hole.

Unerringly now, Bellamy led them through a thick wood, the horses walking quietly. It was quite a simple place where the bags of gold lay. Just a shed in a paddock. Bellamy halted the others, handed Susan to Pat, and approached alone, feeling for the spells, possibly dangerous. It turned out to be easy enough for him to break the spells that protected the reward.

When he was satisfied it was safe, he called the others, and they filed into a circle around the bags of gold that so many had tried for. Pat touched it. She knew that Bellamy was rich, but she'd never seen so much actual physical wealth. It wasn't only gold. Some bags were full of medj money, as well. The killer of the great wizard might need to travel far and fast, and medj currency was more easily negotiable than bulky gold.

"Now what?" said Pat.

Bellamy answered, "I've thought about it. It needs to be proven to people that the reward is gone. And with the reward gone, I'll automatically lose nearly all of those currently trying to kill me. So I'm going to send it to the Ministry of Magic, put it in the atrium, and protect it with spells so it's untouched. Display it there for a week, and then send it off to Sudan or Ethiopia or somewhere, and hope they spend it on food, not guns. But you can have some, too, if you want," he said to Peter and Victor. "You've earned it."

Victor turned over a gold piece in his hands, but said, "I think it should be displayed intact." But he grinned. "I wouldn't mind a Christmas bonus, though."

"Might as well do it now, then," Bellamy said, and glanced at the bags of gold and treasure. They vanished. Then he disapparated, appearing right next to the piles on the floor of the atrium of the Ministry, next to the tawdry gold statue in the middle of the floor. There were always people in the atrium, and he caused a commotion, which he ignored. Instead, he only conjured a sign_. 'Please note. There is no more reward for the death of Henry Bellamy.'_ He surveyed it with a smile. And unless there was a wizard stronger than himself about, no-one would be able to touch it.

Here was the great wizard with his back exposed. But Len Fitzpatrick looked at the piles of gold, knew there was no point, and didn't draw his wand. He probably wouldn't have been fast enough anyway, especially as an auror had been alerted, and was walking fast toward Bellamy. Bellamy only raised a hand to Homer, and vanished.

He went back to his wife, his baby, and his friends.

***chapter end***


	55. Chapter 55

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 24_

The reward was found, the spells were broken, but now the most powerful wizard in the world had to contend with an irascible farmer accusing them of trespass. "Bloody horse riders! Think they own the world!"

Xander snarled, but a quiet word from Bellamy silenced him.

Pat took command, her baby in her arms. She apologised profusely, admired the beautiful pasture, which the horses were now enjoying, and Susan helped by smiling on the short and angry man and reaching out her hands to him.

The man snorted and told them just to get moving. They mounted, and got moving.

Peter asked Victor, laughing, if the farmer was meant to be one of the protectors of the treasure. For a while, they just rode back the way they came, but then Pat called a halt, and pulled out the map. "We're a lot closer to home than we are to the horse boxes," she said. "We could just go home and send for the vehicles."

Peter said diffidently that it was probably a good idea, for himself, especially, as he was supposed to be at school in just three days.

Bellamy looked at him in surprise. "Has it been that long?"

Peter caressed his chin. "I've grown a beard!"

Victor's own beard seemed blacker and bushier than ever. "Are you going to keep it?"

Peter grinned bashfully, "I think it's against the rules for students, and I bet Mum won't let me anyway."

"If we hurry, it should take about a day and a half," said Pat.

Bellamy grinned at Peter. "We'll hurry." And when Pat directed them to turn east into a grassy bridle track, Peter and Bellamy raced, while Victor and Pat watched.

"He seems quite fit again," commented Victor. In the distance, the skewbald started to buck. They couldn't see Bellamy laughing, but they knew he would be. He always laughed when he played with his horse that way.

In the Ministry, reporters interviewed Minister for Magic, Dianne Abercrombie, who took care to convey the impression that Bellamy had put the reward on display with her full prior knowledge and approval. The following day, the Daily Prophet displayed pictures of bags of gold, the backdrop the golden statue that had offended tastes for centuries. The amount that was mentioned was the amount known from other sources. No-one had been able to touch the treasure in order to count it. Dianne wished she could contact Bellamy so that he'd at least tell her how long he planned to leave it there. The atrium was very crowded now, as so many came to see the sight.

At home, they knew from the newspaper that Bellamy had been successful, and Archie had been able to tell Keifer, who'd arrived unexpectedly, that they'd probably hear from him soon. His contact had given Archie a dilemma, but he decided that Pat's brother was unlikely to be a risk, and Ursula and Therese met his aeroplane and drove him home.

Since then, Keifer had wandered the property, exploring and admiring, approved the gentle English summer weather, used the pool, and found the library. He saw those boxes of his own books, too, and an old suspicion was confirmed. He didn't think he'd say anything. He walked in and out of the library several times, and into the room next door, before shaking his head, and deciding the spaces just were not logical and must be magic. He wondered how Pat had come to terms with her specialty of advanced Physics being so casually discredited.

It was frankly warm the following day, and Keifer listened in amusement as the owner of the sheep complained of the 'heatwave.' The ewes and lambs were rounded up and driven off, the efficiency of the farmer's sheepdogs hindered only slightly by some interference by the resident crossbreds. But they had their job, and did it very well, sounding a ringing alarm when Dianne Abercrombie appeared in the apparation zone, wanting to speak to Bellamy. Archie had to admit they hadn't heard from him in a week, adding in an exasperated tone that Peter had to be taken to London to catch the Hogwarts Express the next day.

They gave her morning tea in the garden, and Dianne asked to speak to the redheaded child whom she'd met on her previous visit. Margaret Barnes was proudly introduced to the Minister for Magic, and the Minister for Magic pinned a Sherlie Medal on the girl, in recognition of her role in saving the life of the great wizard.

Margaret was thrilled, her face hardly big enough for her smile. Caradoc was a friend, and suitably admiring, and then Margaret strutted off to show Clare. Clare's painting was interrupted, to her annoyance. Clare wasn't very satisfactory, and Margaret stayed longer with Sybil, who was more appreciative. Meantime, Dianne talked to Ursula, Archie and Keifer. It was a different world that Keifer's sister inhabited, but Keifer thought it seemed very pleasant.

Dianne was just gone when a procession of horses turned into the driveway. Keifer stared at his sister as she approached, riding a tall horse, a small child held securely in front of her. Even from that distance, Pat wore an air of self confidence and a happiness that he'd never seen in her before. Keifer loved her dearly, and remembered that she'd been hesitant to marry Bellamy, whom he now picked out in the rear, with a scruffy looking young man. There was a much more heavily bearded man beside her, and couple of lightly loaded packhorses behind.

Bellamy stopped, staring at the group, and then called to Pat, "It's your brother."

Pat said in surprise, "Keifer?" and leaned forward, Susan still held securely, and galloped to the group.

Bellamy smiled and left her alone, but Peter galloped also, to greet his parents, and to be rebuked for his scruffy appearance. Bellamy, Victor and Archie tended to the horses, and then Bellamy went to greet the old ones. And when he joined the group, it was with the addition of Caradoc and Sybil, though Clare had just told him impatiently to go away.

Kitty provided more morning tea which blended into lunch. Bellamy looked at some mail which Alison thought demanded his personal attention, and Ursula presented Peter with his Hogwarts letter. When he looked at his mother and announced 'Head Boy,' she forgot his scruffy appearance, and hugged him. His textbooks were a problem, but Bellamy looked up from a letter he'd been reading, and said to look in the library, as there was a whole rack of textbooks there.

The result was that Peter returned to school with one very old dog eared textbook labelled H. Potter, two only slightly neater, labelled Adrian Potter, and two with small and precise writing, that said Archibald Barnes, Hufflepuff. It appeared the old textbooks of his father had also found their way to the library. Only one text would have to be purchased new, and that would be sent on to him.

Peter shaved, regretfully. He'd liked his beard, it made him look so grown up. Ursula thought it did too, but hugged him when he appeared clean-shaven again. She didn't want her boy to grow up too fast.

The day that Peter left for school, Pat and Keifer strolled the grounds, talking. Keifer watched Archie, who was walking in the deserted sheep paddock, pointing his wand, and making the soil turn itself over and bury the sheep dung. "A lot easier than ploughing," he said.

Pat said, "Bob wanted to use our place for fattening lambs for slaughter next, but Archie warned him the boss wouldn't like that, though he liked the ewes. Now he thinks Henry's a sentimental twit, but says he'll send us a flock of ewes again next year."

Keifer was surprised. "We had lamb just last night, and he certainly seemed to enjoy it!"

Pat smiled fondly. "I think he knew half the ewes by name, and nearly all the lambs."

Keifer regarded his sister with a great deal of love. "You've got everything you could want," he said. "A beautiful home, friends, and a man who loves you."

"And my daughter," said Pat. "More children if I want." They sat on a garden seat and looked back over the property that seemed to shine with an air of contentment.

"Everything comes with a price, of course," Pat said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Not much over a month ago, he was nearly killed, and was very ill, though almost entirely well again now." And as they watched, Keifer saw a caped wizard suddenly there, in the apparation zone, greeted by a clamour of barking dogs, and by Therese, who drew her wand. He looked back at his sister, stunned to see that she had a gun in her hand. Pat put the gun away. "It's Graham, the healer. He's probably come to check on Henry."

By the time Pat and Keifer joined Graham and Bellamy, they found Graham looking annoyed, and Bellamy blithely unconcerned as he leaned against a wall in his workshop, hands in pockets. Graham was introduced to Keifer, and looked at him with interest, before turning to Pat. "It's your husband. He refuses to be examined."

Bellamy looked at Pat with a touch of apprehension. Pat was amused, but said sternly, "Go with Graham, Henry. You owe him cooperation."

Bellamy turned and growled at Graham, "Inside then."

After they left, Keifer let his laughter out. "The most powerful wizard in the world, and you order him about?"

Pat smiled. "I think it makes him feel like he's just ordinary. He likes it, I think."

Inside the house, Bellamy still grumbled, as Graham ordered him to strip to the waist, and noted down results from his various monitors.

"You're fine," he concluded, "Just a bit thin, still."

Bellamy looked at him resentfully, then suddenly grinned, "Thanks for saving my life, by the way."

A couple of days later, Bellamy resumed work at the Ministry, and a man with a face like a pig, looked more normally ugly again, and another could now scratch his nose without stabbing himself in the eye.

Bellamy apparated that day, direct into the workroom, and when the work finished, Dianne escorted him to the atrium. It had always been open to the public, now it was jam-packed. Bellamy leaned against the wall, his dog by his side, and listened to what appeared to be a tour guide.

A large group entered, swelling the crowd, speaking volubly in Italian. Bellamy listened, and translated for Dianne and Dieter. "He's telling them that the great wizard always likes Italy the best of all, because he's looked after better than anywhere else." He paused, and grinned, "And he loves Italian girls better than any other girls."

He listened a moment longer, and hesitated. Dianne looked curious. "What?"

"Well, I sincerely hope it's not true, but he's saying that there are currently twelve illegitimate children sired by me in Italy."

Dieter and Dianne laughed. "Unlikely," Dianne said.

Bellamy shook his head. "I certainly hope it's not true. Accidental children are embarrassing!"

Dieter suggested that Bellamy should leave before he was noticed, and when Bellamy looked too much entertained, pointed out that there were undoubtedly reporters and photographers among the crowd. Bellamy reluctantly withdrew, and went to Dianne's office and talked about his plans for the reward instead. When Dianne promised faithfully to do as he wished, he decided to trust it to the Ministry. Dianne said that some of the excess aurors could ensure that it went to various needy countries in a way that was not too conspicuous. "And how long..."

"Another week OK?"

Dianne nodded.

And then Bellamy said, very casually, "I just might visit a few of the aurors if you have no objection?"

Dianne raised an eyebrow, even as she said, "Of course, go ahead." She wondered what he had in mind.

What Bellamy had in mind was a party. But it was the young ones he spoke to, Scott and Jeremy. Arrangements were made, quiet word spread. Responsible senior aurors were not invited, and nor was Julia Everett, the boss.

No-one took any notice when aurors started quietly appearing in the evening. There was a particular unused office where apparations could be made discreetly, but few aside from the aurors knew about that. In any case, aurors were the elite, and would not be questioned. Bellamy made his appearance quite late, and apparated straight into the corridor just outside the door to the department. There were already a lot there, hardly any of the young ones had declined the invitation, and Scott, Jeremy and Heather had ensured an ample supply of provisions.

By the time an hour had gone by, the noise level had risen considerably. Bellamy was meeting a lot of the aurors he hadn't known before, and maybe it was only habit now, but Bellamy still liked to know all the aurors he could.

In two more hours, Bellamy had his wish, and barracked on the steeplechasers as they wreaked havoc in the department. And then there were horse and jockey races. Bellamy was a horse for Heather for a while, but he was already quite drunk, and staggered into a desk, and his rider broke her arm. Then there was a bit of wrangling over who was the best at first aid before Shelley finally fixed it.

"I think I should have an 'Injured On Duty' badge now," announced Heather, but the vociferous argument that followed was interrupted by Ryde, grinning, who said that such a minor injury would not have qualified her in any case. There was a bit of a hush among the young aurors at his appearance, as Ryde was senior, and might disapprove.

But Bellamy welcomed him with loud exuberance, and suggested that he was big enough to make a good horse. Ryde and Bellamy won the race that followed, although Heather declined being a rider any more, and volunteered to be a horse for Shelley, instead. But Shelley said demurely that she was quite pleased with the horse she already had, and Peter preened himself.

Another hour went by, and Ryde discreetly vanished again. There was going to be hell to pay in the morning, but he was fond of Bellamy, and had helped look after him in the years of confusion. Now he was just bent on play, and Ryde enjoyed seeing him like that.

Later again, Bellamy sat on the floor next to an overturned desk, just watching the gathering, and continuing to drink. Heather sat beside him, and asked if he was going to try and seduce any of the female aurors, because that's what they were all warned about in training. Bellamy indignantly said that he'd hardly ever seduced any female auror, and the last time was before Heather was born! Heather laughed at him, "Keep your hair on! It's just something we were told." But she wandered off then, and started making moves on Larry, instead.

Things were quieting down, and Scott and Jeremy sat beside him. Bellamy was looking at his friends, as they stood around, talking. Most of them still wore their uniform capes. Aurors were very attached to their uniforms, as a sign of their place in their world. Jeremy noticed that Bellamy looked very sad, and asked what was wrong.

Bellamy looked at him mournfully. His voice was slurred. "You're my friends, but aurors obey orders, and one day you might be ordered to lock me up."

Jeremy punched him lightly on the shoulder, "Why would we be ordered to lock you up?"

Bellamy looked at the wall, and a vision appeared, very real. This ability to conjure images was not unique to Bellamy, but it was a rare skill. The image of five grim aurors surrounding Bellamy and the two who sat beside him, became more and more solid, and more and more menacing. "I was just seventeen, still scrawny from being ill, and they wanted to put me away."

There was a quiet now, as the attention of others was drawn. Dieter had just made an appearance, and he, too, quietly came closer. Bellamy's face started running with tears. The image changed, and two of the conjured figures touched wands to themselves, and now wore the garb of mediwizards, and then there was an ambulance trolley conjured. "They'd stuck me full of tranquilliser, and they were going to take me away." And the images became blurry, and seemed to waver in the air.

"They're not coming any closer," said Dieter.

"I knocked them over if they came closer, and I made their shoes burn." He remembered something, and a sad half-smile appeared. "I gave them boils, too."

The conjured aurors were now very blurry and there was a confusion of other people and noises. "I wasn't even finished school, and I wanted to be an auror myself, because otherwise how could I ever defeat Voldemort? And I had to, because the prophecy said, that either I killed him or he killed me. But the aurors wanted to lock me up, instead."

"No-one wants to lock you up, now," said Dieter, reassuringly.

"Things change," said Bellamy. "One day, you'll be enemies again, very likely." And suddenly there was a new image. An auror appeared and was seen aiming a stunner at his back, Bellamy fell, and the image vanished. And then there was another. A gloomy hospital ward, and four aurors wheeled in an ambulance trolley, accompanied by a strutting man, pompous and round. "I'd been very sick again, and they would have taken me away if I hadn't woken up just a half hour or so before. And then they weren't quite game to take me on. But they organised committal papers instead." His voice had died down to a slurred mutter.

"That was probably the time the Tullochs had a prison prepared," quietly commented Stan, otherwise known as 'Scarface.'

"The Ministry always wants to lock me up," said Bellamy, and he rose to his feet, staggering helplessly to the left, before a cane was instantly conjured, neatly and precisely in his hand, in time to save himself.

He looked around blindly, and suddenly there was another image, ropes around wrists, and there was a sudden feeling in the air, of an acute and overwhelming horror.

Bellamy spoke again. "Never bore grudges when people tried to kill me, much. Far worse to be locked up."

His face wore a bleak expression, and there were still tears, but he swayed dizzily, and suddenly muttered, "Going to bed now." He took a few meandering steps, and curled up in a corner. Dieter looked at his wet face, and slipped off his own cape, and tucked it around him.

"I guess that's why he has nightmares," observed Scott. But Bellamy was sound asleep.

He woke early, had no memory of betraying his fears, and instead just observed the mayhem around him, including Shelley and Peter curled up very close together, grinned, and disapparated, leaving Dieter's cape hanging neatly over a chair.

***chapter end***


	56. Chapter 56

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling_

_Part 3/__Chapter 25_

"The rest of this week and next week here," said Don, "And then America wants another visit."

"We've got a baby, now," said Bellamy. "The patients might just have to come here."

Don frowned, "You really can't do without your wife for a few weeks?"

"I really can't."

So Don started thinking, and the result would be the offer of the small house within the grounds of Zefron school, for three weeks. Pat and Susan would be comfortable, and Bellamy would be happy. Many patients would still have to travel, but at least it would only be from one side of the country to the other.

Both Pat and Bellamy had enjoyed Keifer's visit, but now he was established in a small apartment in Oxford where he'd be for at least the next semester. Bellamy and Pat had their home to themselves again.

That Saturday, Margaret's Pony Club career came to an abrupt end after a screaming match with the chief instructor. Ursula gave her a lecture on manners, but it was Pat's censorious look that abashed her. "It's a matter of safety," Pat pointed out. "And telling someone that you're a witch and threatening to turn them into a frog is not discreet!" For almost the first time in her life, Margaret looked at her feet, and said Sorry.

That night, relaxed in the spa, Pat asked that her husband continue the story. "You said that you went back to Mario, and there was no more rape."

"I'm not sure that they would have thought it rape," Bellamy said. "They never hurt me, and I never fought them. Was that rape?"

"You never agreed to it, did you?"

Bellamy frowned. "If one had said, 'Can I have sex with you?' I might easily have agreed, just to please him, especially Mario. But I didn't know how I'd hate it."

"You dived overboard a second time, you said so. So what upset you then?"

"I wasn't upset then, I just needed to get away. But I was guarded carefully after that first swim, even by those who didn't know me. If I went to the rails just to look over, I'd always find someone holding my arm. If my friends went out for the day without me, they'd either leave me under someone's eye, usually Chivas, or I was locked in."

"You were locked in?" said Pat, shocked.

"They thought I couldn't be trusted. That I couldn't look after myself if I wandered off the ship, or swam to shore. They were looking after me."

"How did you like that?"

"Being left on my own and locked up?"

Bellamy was quiet for a little. "They couldn't have known how distressed I became, or they wouldn't have done it. I always hated being locked up."

He showed her an image, quite clear, a fat man very close, speaking crossly. "I was working in the kitchens for a while."

Pat interrupted with a laugh. This husband of hers had no idea about what went on in a kitchen!

Bellamy protested, smiling, "I washed dishes and tidied up, loaded the dishwasher, arranged meals for the passengers, tidied up..."

Pat was laughing helplessly. The great wizard arranged meals and washed dishes! But then she gasped, and said, "So anyway, why was the fat man cross?"

Bellamy was grinning too. "I started to leave the area, and he grabbed my arm, and said, 'Oh no you don't, boy!' But I only wanted to go to the toilet. He assigned me two escorts!"

"You were happy again, and the sex had stopped. Why did you still want to leave the ship?"

It was getting late, but Bellamy wanted to tell her now, to finish the story. Quietly again, he related how his mind was slowly becoming more clear. "They still looked after me. They never took me to the spa-room again, but I was still hugged and caressed. Nino played with my hair." He smiled. "I lapped it up. I couldn't have enough loving. There was a pain in me, and it pushed it back. And every night, Mario held me close, and loved me."

He was silent a while, and Pat waited. He was looking into the distance, and at last, he continued. "Mario loved me, but I couldn't have sex with him, and it was the wrong way for me. At last, I realised that I had to leave him."

"So you dived overboard again?"

"No, I told Chivas I needed to go to the pay officer to organise my discharge from the ship at the next port. You see, I was still not allowed off the Crew Deck by myself. But Chivas took me to Guido instead. I think I already told you, he said I couldn't look after myself, and he wouldn't let me go. They'd stopped guarding me nearly as much by then, but afterwards, I was never left alone, except occasionally locked in the cabin. It was on one of those times, I was pacing the floor, and every now and then I'd try the door in case it wasn't locked any more. And one time, it wasn't locked any more. I nearly wandered off the ship, then, and that's when I was caught, and Lopez and Ramirez discovered that I couldn't read only because I needed glasses."

Pat frowned. "Someone must have quite deliberately unlocked the door."

"I suppose, but just because I was getting better doesn't mean I was normal. I never thought about that, and still became totally confused quite easily. And there was something else that night. I made them cross, because I started to wander off out the door."

"Deliberately?" Pat interrupted.

"I guess..." Bellamy was uncertain. "Anyway, they were speaking Spanish, and one said to the other, not realising, of course, that I knew the language, that I was to be committed once we got to Southampton, in my own country. We were to get to Southampton in six weeks."

Pat asked softly, "Would it have been so terrible being looked after in an institution?"

"There was one in Australia once. I don't know how I came to be there, but it was all right. They fed me, and there were ways in and out without using magic, so I didn't feel locked up."

"That was when the aurors found you and brought you home," said Pat. "Katrina told me."

Bellamy nodded.

Pat wanted him to continue. "Soon after Lopez and Ramirez, you were given glasses, and you said you were on the ship for some weeks after that."

"I was actually quite happy then, but I didn't want to be committed, and I didn't want to go to England, and there was the problem of Mario's love, too. One day, he would ask, and I would say yes, and I didn't want to. But weeks went by and I was never left alone. They all knew who I was, and they all knew I was not allowed ashore."

"Is that when you found that book in the library?"

Bellamy grinned. "And yet not a single person yelled at me not to be such a bloody bore!"

Pat observed with a smile, "They were certainly tolerant!"

"Most people have a great deal of kindness in them. In all the years of wandering, I was hardly ever mistreated - except that sometimes I wasn't paid, or somebody would tell me to hand over my paypacket, and of course, a crazy man has to do what he's told, so I would."

"You'd hand over your pay, just for the asking?"

"Just for the asking, but hardly anyone asked."

"Then what?"

"I was running out of time, but it wasn't like the time before, which was the impulse of the moment. I left the ship at night, and no-one saw me go. I had my moneybelt, my wallet, passport, glasses, and I made a spell of sleep so that Mario wouldn't tell me to get back into bed and not be so stupid." He grinned sheepishly. "Even then, I always did what I was told. And then I dived over and swam to Portugal."

"You dived over and swam to Portugal," said Pat, "Just like that."

Bellamy nodded, "Just like that, yes."

"Were you all right then? There was something about a lover finding the lost boy."

"I was all right only for a little while. Enough to conjure a backpack and some clothes. But maybe my own heart was a bit broken, because everything went blurry again for a while."

"They were right, you couldn't look after yourself," observed Pat, in a dispassionate voice.

Bellamy looked at the watch on his wrist. But neither of them made any moves to leave the bubbling water. The story wasn't quite finished. Susan slept quietly in her temporary cot in the spa-room. Pat waited.

HeHeHe continued, "When he found me, I told him, he wasn't Mario, that Mario was years ago, and would be dead by now. But he made me eat, and we slept in rooms, rather than under a convenient tree, and he held me close at night, and after a while, I thought it must be Mario after all. I started getting better again, then."

He showed her some images, the big man looking a bit thinner, and suddenly, the images were clear.

"I guess you started wearing your glasses again."

"I guess."

The images faded away. Bellamy stared into the distance. Pat watched his face, looking a touch sad. "I started knowing that I had a different life somewhere. Things hadn't changed. I knew I had to leave him, and it didn't make any difference that he loved me, or if I loved him."

Pat reached over and touched him, and he smiled at her. She wouldn't think the worse of him. "One day, like I knew, he asked me, and I said yes. But afterwards, I knew who I was, and I quietly packed, and apparated to Sweden and started to write a book."

Pat was very quiet. "I did blame them for taking advantage of the way you were, including, even especially, Mario, but he came and found you, when you were in trouble again."

"Yes."

"What if he hadn't found you?"

"I don't know. Maybe I would have wandered again for more years. Or maybe I would have starved to death that winter."

Pat rose from the water. "Bed?"

"Bed."

She held him very close that night.

_**x**_

Two weeks later, Bellamy attended the funeral of Bridon Pickering. Bridon had come to work with Bellamy as a young man, and had married his relative, Cissy Diefenberger. After she died, he'd married the youngest daughter of Jason and Melissa Wiley, who'd also worked with him for a very long time. For so long, Bridon Pickering had been a friend and a neighbour. But everyone dies, and in the midst of death, we are in life.

Bellamy comforted Dianne, and spoke to dozens of younger Pickerings. Bridon had come from a large family, and had many relatives, which was why the funeral was at the wizard cemetery in London. Two aurors stood, alert behind him. Whether or not the reward was gone, the great wizard would always have enemies.

Drew Pentridge had been trying to kill him for years, and had become fanatical. But Bellamy felt his intention, turned on him, and then went to face him, repeating in a calm and authoritative voice that he was not allowed to attack him, and that he was not allowed to try and attack anyone else, and that he was not allowed to help anyone else make any attacks on any human or animal. The half insane wizard was now harmless. He was losing his magic in any case, as nearly always happened when a witch or wizard became irrational.

Bellamy was safer than he'd been in years, once the reward was gone. And he was surrounded by people who worked to protect him.

There was Margaret Barnes, whose skills at defence were far in advance of her age. Her brother Peter, responsible and brave. Ursula and Archie, their parents. Archie had been a security guard before returning to service with the great wizard. Living in the house was Sidney Bourne, who might have the potential to work magic without a wand in an emergency. Kitty, his wife, the cook and housekeeper, who was becoming quick and skilled at defence as well. She challenged her brother Homer, who was an auror, to a practice duel one day, but she wasn't that fast. She surprised Homer, though. There was even a network of house-elves. House-elves were dedicated servants, who liked their contribution to be invisible. But Ricos and Becyx, Bellamy's servants, knew others. The house-elves idolised the great wizard, and Vesner's interference with a poison was not the first or the last time they'd taken such action.

And there were the aurors. And even if things did change, there were few of those who would follow an order to take him prisoner. He never remembered showing an assortment of half drunk aurors his most private fears, but maybe a deep instinct was operating. That action, too, helped bind their loyalty.

Almost a year on, Bellamy donned his dress robes, and accompanied Pat to the Pluravista. Peter, Hugo and Kupec were among the graduates that year. And Kupec was able to say that he'd shortly be going into auror training, that the Ministry had changed its mind, but only if an applicant could show exceptional academic results, and exceptional aptitude. The great wizard shook his hand in pleasure. Hugo's results were quite unexceptional, and Hugo was talking about the Joke shop business. And Bellamy shook his hand, too. "The best career," he said. "We need laughter in the world."

Pat was the honoured guest. She was very greatly respected. The organisers hadn't known to expect her husband, but were thrilled at his presence. The aurors had known, and guarded his back, as always. But there had been no serious attempt at killing him for several months.

Afterward, he went home with his wife. "I think I might learn to fly an aeroplane," Pat said. "It will be easier to get around when we have more than one child."

Bellamy turned to her delighted. "Are you...?"

"Not yet, but we could work on it..."

_The End_


End file.
